Gold River
by kyamei
Summary: AU following the 3rd season finale. Neal and Mozzie don't go to Cape Verde - instead they fly off to lie low in a place where they're sure not even Peter will find them. But Peter searches nonetheless, and while he races to get to them before Collins does, Neal starts to wish he had not hidden so well after all. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey! So this is my first White Collar fanfic, I hope you'll like it! This story is finished, runs about 30k (long, I know), and I'll try to post the chapters regularly as I edit. **

**About this story: It's an AU following the third season finale. Though I loved the start of the fourth season, I wasn't 100% convinced about the portrayal of Cape Verde. I forgave all geographical inaccuracies because Most Wanted was so great, but it still got me thinking about where one could go to never be found. And so this story was born. I had fun playing with the setting (it might be one of the reasons this is so long). I've done my research. I've also taken a few things from Wanted and Most Wanted, but I believe I have sort of upped the stakes. I'll be changing View Point Character (between Peter and Neal) each chapter or so. I hope you'll enjoy this! **

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There was no hunger any more. Light and darkness had blended together so that he was no longer aware of the passing of time. How many days now? Five? Six? He'd thought it silly to keep a tally at first, but now he was starting to understand its usefulness. The rocky opening, high above, provided weak rays of sunlight for a brief time during noon, but the rest of the day, when looking up, all he saw was the canopy of trees, branches and wide leaves intertwined. Down where he lay it was pitch black. He'd been filled with despair the first day, but now he was actually glad of the darkness. If he had been able to see the bugs and creatures that he _knew_ were crawling around him, if he had been able to see the state his left leg was in, he knew it would have broken him. It was too dark even for shadows, which were the worst of all, since his imagination always made them out to be something worse than what they really were.

He was thankful there were no shadows. In the darkness, and in ignorance, he still had hope. Not hope like he'd had on the first day, when he thought that stone walls were nothing compared to a Maximum Security Prison, when he still believed it was possible for him to climb out on his own. Now his hope was placed on others. He would get out. Mozzie would find him, and if he didn't or couldn't then he'd call Peter and Peter would find him, like every other time before. _Fool. You picked the one place where you would never be found - can't have it both ways._ No, Peter would come. Mozzie would make sure. _If he comes, it'll take him too long to find this place. He'll be too late._ No, there was hope. There was still hope.

He made his promises again, like he'd been doing since day one. _If I get out, I'll never steal again. I will never cheat and I will never lie, unless it's a case. If I get out, I'll help people, I'll give back to the world, I'll give back everything I ever took that did not belong to me. If I get out, I will apologise to everyone. I will make things right._ As with every day before, after the promises, came the anger. He knew he couldn't ask for a ladder to roll down from the heavens, but it always disappointed him that everything stayed the same when he had just made a momentous decision with his life - a sacrifice. Only it was not a sacrifice to stop stealing or lying, very much like it wasn't a chore to make your own bed. It was an obligation, it was expected. A sacrifice would mean to go beyond. _If I get out, I will forgive my mother and I will look for my father. And I will paint again, without copying. And I will teach others how to paint. _Was that enough? He looked to the jagged opening. There was no ladder falling from the sky. There was no Peter coming to the rescue. He was alone.

He tried to turn in the soft mud, and when he felt pain he groaned, then screamed, and damned all his promises to hell. It wasn't fair. Yes, he'd been a fool. Yes, he'd been too proud, and he'd relied too much on a skill set that had proved useless in his current situation. White collar criminals, you could con, but murderers, they tire of talking and they just kill you. He should have known better, but still, _it wasn't fair_. He had not even wanted to run. If Peter had not looked at him the way he had on the steps to the building, he would never have fled. He would have stayed, and faced the hearing like a man. Because he was a man, not a con. He didn't deserve this, and now rage was coming in dark, hot waves and he was glad, because otherwise he'd go crazy.

_Rage_. He'd never been one to surrender to emotion, but it was familiar now, and he was relieved when he felt it coming. He felt it creeping within him, a tingling in his fingers, then a vibration going up. Almost like it were alive, a living thing running through him, making his eyes redden and his fists tighten. He felt every muscle like a spring coiled way beyond its limit, he felt there was life in him again.

He welcomed it, like an old friend. He did not fight it. He let it control him, because when it came over him it numbed fear and pain and sadness, it drowned guilt and shame and regret. He felt powerful, because for the brief time rage took hold, he forgot that he was deep in a dark place, a place where maybe fifty years from then a spelunking tourist would find him a crazy old man, or maybe just a pile of bones.

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The small Cessna banked hard and entered a v-shaped valley of dense rainforest, while far below the great river they had been following on a North-East course made a sharp, pointy bend to the South East. When Peter saw it, where he sat in the front seat, he felt his heart would burst right out of his chest, and he pressed his forehead against the glass and pointed down.

"This is it," he told the pilot. "That's the place. The bend of the river, that's what he said."

"They call that place the Elbow," said the pilot. "There's a landing strip close, and a settlement further inland."

"Great. Let's land."

The pilot manoeuvred the plane to face the red dirt of the landing strip, and Peter held on tight to the handles of his seat as they soared mere metres above the highest trees. They were so close he could see them in perfect detail, their thin trunks and the crown of their leaves on top, weaver-bird nests hanging from the highest branches. They were so different from the trees he knew. He was so far from home...

"Is someone waiting for you in the town?" the pilot asked, shouting above the roar of the engine as they hit the ground and they pulled to a stop. Peter shook his head.

"I hope so!" he replied. He didn't really know. He was sure he had the right town, now he needed to find the farm, but he'd seen hundreds of cattle stations all over the hills and the plains, they could be anywhere. He cursed them, both Neal and Mozzie. Neal, for disappearing, and Mozzie for not giving him proper directions.

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All he'd gotten, three days ago when he came out of the elevator and started walking towards his office, was a strange text message: _N MIA MOO-F BEND RIV PROMISED LAND 1859 KOMM ASAP._

He had never had any doubt that it came from Mozzie - he knew no one else who would go to such measures to be inconspicuous. The first and the last parts had been easy enough to decipher. _Neal's missing. Come as soon as possible._ It took him far longer to crack Promised Land 1859. The text could not be traced, the phone seemed to be off-line, but he had Diana scour every book and webpage relating to a place founded in 1859 called the Promised Land. There was no viable town with that name and that founding date anywhere. They expanded their search to towns founded in 1859, period, but the results were endless. Peter's living room map became increasingly cluttered with pins and post-its and overhanging strings, but he had no breaks.

"I don't understand, why couldn't he just write the coordinates?" he muttered, while rubbing his eyes. They hurt from staring at the tiny town names of his world map. He had been searching for Neal and Mozzie long before the text message, but that had been his only break.

"Maybe he was afraid the information wasn't safe with you," said Diana. "And in this case, it was wise of him. Collins could have intercepted the message."

"Yeah, and if he has, I'm sure he hasn't cracked it yet either... I just don't see a way to solve this one."

"Let's try the other clues. KOMM ASAP," said Jones.

"Come as soon as possible, we got that one."

"Yes, but notice the spelling. He could've just said COME or COM, but he spelled it KOMM. That's German. This town, Promised Land, could be in Germany."

"Germany? They do have an extradition treaty. I thought we were looking for islands," said Diana.

"We can't scratch all non-extradition countries, most of them either don't have criminal laws against bond forgery or haven't extradited anyone in decades. Does Germany have a town called Promised Land that has anything to do with 1859?"

"I'm looking into it, Boss," said Diana, typing furiously in her laptop on the dining room table. Peter stared at the words of the text he'd printed in large blocks. BEND RIV. River. The bend of a river, yes, that made sense. But what river? MOO-F. Now, he had no idea about that one.

"Cows," said Elizabeth, materialising behind him. She placed a hand on his shoulder as she leaned over the letters. "Moo moo. You know, cows."

"And the F? Cows-F, what does that mean?" he asked, shaking his head.

"There's this brand of milk called Moo..." said Jones.

"Moo f... farm?" she said, tentatively, tilting her head to the side. Peter turned, smiling.

"A cattle farm. A cattle farm by the bend of a river, that's it!"

"That's a bit vague for a search," said Diana. "And I got nothing on a farm matching that description in Germany. I'm widening the search to Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Austria, every German-speaking region of Europe."

"What if it's not in Europe?" said Elizabeth.

"Then why the use of German?"

"Maybe it was a promised land... for Germans?" Jones suggested. Peter sighed, shuffling the clues in his mind. Then he went next to Diana.

"A colony. Search German settlers, colony, cattle, farm, 1859. See what comes up."

The screen was filled with random results. Peter skimmed down the page as Diana scrolled, then his eyes stopped at suggested image, of a Tyrolese-style house in the middle of the rainforest.

"Click on that," he said. The picture belonged to the webpage of a jungle eco-lodge. "Click on Our History." Diana clicked. It showed a black and white picture of three very blond men standing on a hill lined with trees, looking down at a wide plain, a perfect grazing field. Diana read quickly.

"I think this is it," she said.

"I think so, too."

The next picture showed the wooden Willkommen sign of a town of cattle farmers, founded in 1859 by Austro-German settlers, in the South-Western edge of the Amazon rainforest. When Diana brought up the isolated town on Google Maps, they could see it was surrounded by farmland, and a great river dramatically changed its course after passing by the tiny settlement. There was no doubt now, this was where they had run off to, and Peter couldn't help it but wonder if he would've ever found them without the clues. They had not run to an island. This was no Caribbean no-extradition paradise like he would have expected, it was about as remote as it got. The sort of place where you could disappear forever, and deep down he felt proud of Neal, knowing he must have picked it carefully.

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Peter stepped down the ladder of the plane and into the burning hot pressed earth of the runway. The heat hit him like a slap, like he'd just stepped into a wet sauna room, and for a second he could not draw a breath. The pilot caught sight of him, and smiled.

"You'll get used to it," he said. Peter didn't believe him.

"Thank you," he said anyway. He had already paid the man in advance. He hoped to give the receipt to Mozzie once he found him - it had not come cheap.

"Do you have transportation?" the pilot asked. The runway was clear, there was no one around except for a clerk in a small control post at the very end of it. Peter shook his head.

"Is the town too far?" he asked.

"Not really. But you're not dressed for that. You need boots. It rained yesterday."

"Oh, I don't mind getting a little wet..." said Peter, looking down at his plain brown shoes. The man shook his head, as if he wasn't getting it.

"No. You need boots. Listen, I know a man here. He can be your guide. He's studied abroad, he speaks good English."

"No, it's all right, I don't need a guide," said Peter, with a smile, but then he looked around him. The runway was surrounded by rainforest. He didn't even know where the town was, and it wasn't even the town he needed to be in, from there he had to go look for the farm. He sighed, and turned back to the pilot.

"So, how fast can he get here?"

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Half an hour later, a run-down faded red Land Cruiser with deeply grooved tires roared into the runway from the opposite side of the control post, and a young man jumped out, waving. Peter walked towards him, and wondered if he'd made the right decision. His 'guide' was a kid who could not have been older than 23. He looked messy: he had a reddish beard stubble, his dark hair was a little too long and it stuck out at the corners while at the top it remained plastered to his head from the rim of a hat. He had a sunburn that seemed permanent, and he wore khaki shorts, black Wellington boots and a too-large short-sleeved shirt that looked dusty and old. On his hand he carried a worn broad-rimmed slouch hat that looked straight out of Indiana Jones. All he was missing was the whip.

He stretched his hand towards Peter and shook it firmly with a wide, honest smile.

"I'm Nicolas Schmidt. You can call me Nico," he said, and Peter forgot his apprehensions about his wardrobe and liked him anyway.

"Peter Burke. Nice to meet you."

"My pleasure." He turned to his truck. "This is our transport here, she doesn't look like much but I assure you she's faithful." His voice was grave and his English good, though he spoke it in an odd German accent. If he remembered the Tyrolese-style homesteads he'd seen from the air, though, it wasn't a surprise. And once he got on the kid's car and drove to town he noticed that though the people he saw walking around mostly looked local, the street-signs and street-names and the architecture were all decidedly Germanic.

"So, Daniel said you were looking for someone. Where do you need to go?" Nico asked - Daniel was the pilot.

"I'm looking for two friends, I think one of them might be in trouble. All I know is they are in a cattle farm somewhere in this district."

"That's vague. There are a lot of farms around here, and they are all far apart from each other. Rainy season's just started, some might be cut off."

"I was hoping you could help me locate the farm they were in. They've been living here for two months so someone must have seen them."

"If they've come to town, sure. We should ask around," said Nico. "But first, we should go to Bata. You need boots."

One step out of the car into the dirt road was enough to explain why boots seemed to be such a big deal. Peter set down his weight into the ground and sunk almost to his knees in the thick red mud. When he tried to take another step, it sucked him down and he would've fallen face-first if it had not been for the car parked behind him. Even after he'd gotten himself a pair of large, black rubber boots, he found it hard to walk, and he avoided the patches of mud whenever possible.

"So what do your friends look like?" said Nico. They were walking up to the town's only hotel.

"I've got pictures," said Peter, pulling out his wallet. He handed him a picture of Neal, where he stood besides Peter and Elizabeth, and one very low-def of Mozzie, which he had taken with his phone while he wasn't looking."That's Neal," he pointed. "And that's Mozzie. They might not know I'm looking, and they might not want to be found."

"I haven't seen them. But I'm not in town much, it was lucky for you I was here now. I'm usually further inside, up the mountains. I take people to see orchids and rare birds. They are harder to find than people, so don't worry. I have experience."

"I'm afraid my friends are not your average tourist. They're quite elusive. If they know someone's looking, they take off."

Nico smiled.

"So do birds."

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Peter called home before they left the town. He sat in the passenger seat of Nico's truck while he went off to buy some last supplies, as they'd spent most of the day readying the truck for the harsh road to the farms - seeing as they'd found out nothing in the town. Nico had everything they could possibly need, camping gear, gas stoves and lamps and a grill, tanks of water and gasoline, a large sling belt with a hook and a fitted winch between his truck's headlights. He even had cold beers in a cooler, and Peter thanked God he had listened to the pilot and hired him.

The phone rang on the other side of the hemisphere. He waited, then sighed with relief when he heard Elizabeth's voice on the other end.

"Peter? Thank God! Are you there yet? Did you find them?" she asked, her voice fast, and Peter smiled.

"I'm here, but I haven't found them yet. I've hired a guide and he's taking me to the nearest cattle farms, which is as good a place to start as any."

"You hired a guide?" Elizabeth seemed surprised.

"Believe it or not, I did, and I don't think I could've been able to leave the runway without one. This place is so remote, El. And he seems like a good kid. Has Diana called you? Any word on Collins?"

"She called, yes, but she's lost track of him. I'll let you know when I hear anything."

"That might be difficult. I may not have a signal later. I'll call you again when I can. Leave me a message if anything happens, and if Diana or Jones call you, tell them to do the same."

"Okay. I miss you hon. Please take care."

"I miss you too." Peter sighed, and looked around. "It's so hot here, but it's beautiful. It's getting dark and the sky is amazing, it's purple and pink and orange... I wish you were here."

Peter was so caught up with watching the sky he almost didn't notice when a salesman knocked on the car door. He was startled and almost dropped the phone when he looked up. The man pushed a bunch of things in front of his face. Native crafts, wooden animals, paintings of sunsets and river scenes in neon colours that he knew Elizabeth would have told him to buy had she been there with him. It was good art. The man was reciting their prices and Peter was just about to reach for his wallet to get one of the neon canvases when the man turned and he noticed a smaller canvas hanging among his things. It was neon coloured, like the rest, but it was a city skyline. Peter peered closer and he immediately recognised the view from Neal's flat. He pushed the door open and grabbed it.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

"Peter? Is everything okay?" Elizabeth asked him over the phone. He pressed it against his ear, while the salesman stared at him, confused. He was an elderly man, wearing tyre-rubber sandals and rolled up pants.

"It's fine, El. I think I have a lead, I'll call you back."

He hung up, and turned to the man again, who seemed unsure whether he was going to buy from him or not.

"Where did you get this?" Peter asked his question again, but the man didn't answer, he didn't seem to understand him. Peter reached into his pocket, and showed him Neal's picture. The man smiled widely and nodded. Peter felt a rush of relief, and when he saw Nico coming back with full bags he called him over. "This painting was made by my friend. Ask him about it," he said. Nico came forwards and looked at the painting, then took the picture from Peter.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm sure! That's the view from his old window."

Nico showed the man the picture, asking him in a quick, hushed voice. The man answered animatedly.

"He says your friend sold him paintings really cheap. Most of them river scenes like these ones," he pointed to the bulk of the paintings. "He says the ones with buildings, he got them for free. They don't sell well. Not a lot of tourists in the rainy season..." Nico asked him another question, and the man answered. "He says he came here once a week to get ice and other supplies."

"From where? Ask him where he was staying."

"He doesn't know, but he always bought ice for himself and for Mr. Vogt... Vogt..." Nico turned. "I know Vogt. His land is South East of here, by the river. He breeds Cebú cattle for the meat business, raises fine horses, too."

Nico thanked the man, and gave him a few coins for his troubles. Peter bought the cityscape and the prettiest of the river scenes, feeling hopeful. The colours were incredibly bright, he had never thought that would fit Neal's style, but he wasn't at all surprised that he could pull them off so well. When he was sitting back in the truck he realised he felt such hope and excitement like he'd never thought he'd felt before. He was almost there. He was going to find him, for the third and hopefully the last time.

**Thanks for reading, there's more to come! I'd love it if you left a review. **

**-And a word on extradition. Few countries don't allow it, but most countries have very specific regulations that make it very hard for it to happen. In my chosen setting (checks the Criminal Code) I'm pretty sure Neal and Mozzie could never be extradited. So extradition aside, where would you run off to if you had to disappear?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: To all of those who've reviewed, favourited, alerted, or simply read this, THANK YOU! You have no idea how happy you make me. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter - it's very long! I go back a little in this one. It's Neal's POV, and in the next we get back to Peter. I find Peter so much easier to write, for some reason... Neal's so complicated... Mozzie's even harder. Forgive me if anything's off. This starts slow, but I will pick up the pace. You have to trust me on this one. Everything **_**will **_**come full circle. Be patient. **

**Disclaimer (since I forgot last time): I don' t own any of it. **

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When Neal first saw the painting that hung proud in the wall of Mr. Vogt's dining room, he was not impressed. Vogt, before knowing Neal was even remotely interested in art, told him it was in the tribal style, and sure, it was pretty. It was a large canvas painted in oil pastels, the background colour was a deep blue that darkened at the edges, and the outline was done in black. A shimmering stream flowed down the centre of the canvas, large water lilies floating in the water, and it was surrounded by forest. Flowers and leaves stood out, painted fluorescent green and pink, and cat-like animals ran in the higher branches, always in the shadows, only their eyes shining in neon colours. It looked like a glow-in-the-dark painting, like someone had dipped it in highlighter. It had seemed a bit too much. Silly even, and he didn't comment on it.

But that had been on his first day. When he returned to look at it again, he saw it under a very different light.

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Mozzie chose the house. Not a day after their plane landed in a shady airstrip to the north, he'd seen it from the raft that took them upriver, and they stopped in a beach of fine red sand and met with Josef Vogt in a jetty by the water. Mr. Vogt owned both the house by the river and an older, larger house over a hillock, by the fields. He was pushing sixty and had white hair, and he'd been a cattle farmer all his life. He also raised horses, and by the looks of the River House, he did well, but he lived in almost complete isolation, and he'd built that second house for a son that had emigrated to the city. Before Neal and Mozzie got there, it had been empty for almost a year. They had both agreed there was no need to look any further.

Neal fell in love with the River House from the moment he first saw it. While Mozzie wandered around the farmland in order to assess their possible escape routes - should they ever need them - to evaluate the moral standards of their neighbours (which mostly meant drinking with Mr. Vogt), and to case the area for future perfectly legal and/or low-risk jobs, he made the house their own. He filled the walls with art, at Mozzie's request he had all the windows and the veranda wrapped in mosquito netting, and he implemented the use of double doors. Everything else was perfect.

The River House (so named by Mozzie to tell it apart from the Main House), was built up on stilts in a grassy lowland that was too wet for farming and too muddy for pasture. It was two stories and quite small, but it had a wide front veranda looking down at the forest that surrounded the farm, and the view from the second floor was stunning. From every North-facing window there was an unobstructed view of the river, fanned open in braids and flowing slowly in a South-East course - it was not huge, but still it reminded Neal of the great river of the city he'd grown up in. Every inch of the house, he found beautiful, the palm fronds of the ceiling, the wide winding stairs that led to a second floor deck, the red mahogany of the walls and the boards of the floor... You could not buy wood like that elsewhere, Mozzie had said, it was endangered and banned from commerce, but here it had its source. When it rained, the whole house smelled of wood and for Neal there was nothing quite like that smell.

The Main House was not visible; a hill acted as a divider between both houses, and below the hill ran a canal with water redirected from a sluice-gate at a stream – separate from the river - that came in from the forest, and that filled up the treated water tanks, the watering troughs, and the pools where they farmed fish. The Main House was three stories high, with long windows with shutters, wrap-around balconies on the top floors that shadowed the veranda on the first one, and with diagonal boards over the straight wood walls that reminded one of a house in the Alps. It was surrounded by other buildings, a barn, a windmill, the stables, the work-men's quarters and the ever stretching fences that held the cattle.

Josef Vogt lived in the Main House with his daughter Laura, who worked in the settlement, his younger son Hugo who managed the farm, and his only grandkid, son of his eldest son Erick, who lived in the capital, and who was supposed to inherit the River House. It had not been up for sale, but once Mozzie put down his offer in cash, there had been no questions. It hadn't even been an outrageous offer, after all their lack of liquidated funds was largely the reason why they had not bought themselves an island somewhere in the Mediterranean or possibly the Indian Ocean (Neal had been particularly interested in the Maldives). They had left in a rush. They had not prepared cover stories, they had not set up aliases or invented details about who they were, about what they did for a living, who they knew, or what was the source of their wealth. Both Neal and Mozzie had works that could be sold, but that took time. They couldn't do it too quick or it would raise flags. They had chosen this secluded river valley in the rainforest because here they were far away from people who would know about them, they were far away from telephone or internet access, far away from civilisation in every way, and while Mozzie's contacts sold what remained of the treasure, they could lay low and in waiting.

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"Spoke to Mr. Vogt this morning," said Mozzie, climbing up the steps to the dining table in the veranda - they hardly ever used the dining room, outside the heat was not as stifling. Neal sat in front of an easel, scraping up the last bit of black pigment off his oil pallet. All of his last paintings were a bit off in colour as his supplies dwindled. "He seems to be under the impression that you and I wish to become cattle farmers. I told him we had no intention of doing so, so he's going to manage our land as his own."

"That's fine by me," said Neal. He didn't mind anyone out in the fields, all he wanted was the house.

"You do realise that means we'll have cows grazing in front of the porch. And that cowboy Hugo rounding them up in the ungodly hours of the morning... Seriously, it's like the far west out here," said Mozzie, and he stared out into the plains from the veranda. The fields were almost completely surrounded by dark forest, only the side dipping into the river landing was clear.

"But it's greener," said Neal. "And it rains."

"And there are no coach robbers. Though I have heard rumours of river boat thieves..."

Neal scoffed, and dropped his brush on his solvent cup. He was out of black, now. He sighed, and made his way out of his chair and lied down on the hammock, letting the netted edges wrap over his head like a cocoon. He felt at ease there, but as always, after a while, he started to wonder with some fear how much longer it would be before he started to get impatient, staying there in such an isolated place with nothing to do. Maybe they should've tried to go to the islands despite their money issues; to a place with nightlife and excitement and _people_... As much as he loved the house, and the green plains, and the clear river with its sandy beaches, and the spectacular sunsets every night, he would be lying if he said he didn't miss New York or Peter or Elizabeth or the fast pace of his old life. _But this isn't permanent, it's all right, it isn't forever._ They were just waiting for the excitement and the search to blow off, and for their illicit bank accounts to recover. They didn't have to worry about being found in the meantime, they didn't have to memorise new names and back-stories, they didn't even have to lie. A quiet year would be enough, according to Mozzie, and then they would be ready to move on - that way it would never be boring.

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"Oh, and by the way, Mr. Vogt has invited us over for a game tonight. It's Friday. Apparently it's tradition," said Mozzie, looking up from the giant crossword puzzle he'd unfolded. Neal shook his head.

"I think I'll pass," he said. He straightened up, and flicked his wet brush at the canvas in front, an odd coloured reproduction of a Turner seascape. "I've got to finish this."

"Oh? So you have buyer lined up? A dead-line? Come on, Neal. Seriously. Save your paints for times of need."

"I just don't feel like sitting with strangers who ask questions."

"I hate to break it to you, but we live here, they're our neighbours, so unless you're planning on staying in forever you'll have to know them eventually." Mozzie put down his puzzle. "And Mr. Vogt won't ask questions. We're foreigners who bought a house with cash over the counter and with no exchange of property, obviously we're not in good standing with the law. He's not stupid. He'll be less likely to think you're a serial killer or some other sort of dangerous criminal if he actually knows you. Besides, last Friday he beat me five dice to none, I need a rematch. With you sitting beside me we'll be invincible, trust me, Neal, that game's made for you."

"Dice? I'm not a fan of games of chance."

"It's Liar's Dice. There's hardly any chance involved."

Mozzie turned away, rolling his eyes. Neal grunted in frustration as he tried to mix his remaining pigments for black, but it showed up blue in the canvas, and he tossed the brush back in the cup. He didn't know why he'd avoided Vogt and his family so far. He guessed he still wasn't used to this new life, he had not imagined that being on the run again would be so hard, even in such a quiet place. After two years of stability, it was hard to go back to the mobile life, to the lying and the scheming that he had thought he'd missed when all he'd missed was his freedom. Or maybe not his actual freedom, because there was hardly ever a time when he felt anything stronger than a longing of stepping out of his two mile radius (even if just for the sake of it). It was more like the idea of freedom that he'd missed. The possibilities. Now he was free, but he still couldn't do whatever he wanted. He knew deep down that had it not been for Peter's signal, he never would've left.

"Who will be in the game?" he asked. He had never played the game of dice that Mozzie seemed to have developed an addiction to, but he was sure he could handle it.

"Vogt, Hugo and the kid. And both of us. Oh, and maybe Laura, too. She got back from town on Wednesday. I don't think you've met her yet..."

"Laura? Didn't you say yesterday that she was a shut in... who spent all day in her room... sewing?," said Neal, raising his eyebrows. Mozzie shrugged, smiling.

"I _may_ have exaggerated a bit, knowing your natural disposition towards the female persuasion..."

"Mozzie... Don't tell me you like her. Is that why you spend so much time there?"

Mozzie sighed. "Okay, so she's not exactly hard on the eyes, but she's been in town, I have only played with Mr. Vogt. He says she's ruthless in a dice game, though."

"Well, we'll see about that."

"So you'll come?"

Neal smiled. "I'll think about it."

Mozzie left early, and he stayed there on the veranda on his own, still painting. He longed for a good wine, but he'd drunk his last bottle the day before and he wasn't sure when he'd be able to get another. He missed the good bottles he'd left behind at June's, but he hadn't exactly had time to pack, and now there was a 6,000-metres-above-the-sea-level mountain chain between him and the nearest grape-growing region of the world. Old Vogt was not a wine-drinker, though he had managed to get them a few good local, Spanish, and Chilean wines from his last trip to a city on Mozzie's insistence. They had been a pleasant surprise, but between him and Mozzie they were gone now. He was missing New York far more than he cared to admit, he had never gone through that much wine so quick. Good coffee, thank God, they were never short of. There was no Italian roast, of course, but looking out to the mountains on a clear day he could see the Arabica plantations of several farms over, and Mr. Vogt had an oven for roasting. Small mercies, though. He still missed June, and her big house, and the view, and her granddaughters, and even her little dog. He missed Sara, despite the way it had ended. He missed opening the door to Peter's house and sampling Elizabeth's food experiments. He missed the office. He would've given all the home-roasted fresh coffee in the world to be pouring that machine-pressed sludge into his cup and Peter's while discussing a case. He'd left all that for a life of thrill, and yet here he was, in the middle of nowhere, with no life and no thrill.

After the sun had set but before the sky was dark, when the clouds were pink and purple and low on the horizon, he heard the distinct thudding of a horse galloping on grass. Even before he could see it, he could tell it was a special horse, unlike the working ponies he'd so far been allowed to ride for transport within the farm's boundaries and to go get ice from the town. When the horse came into view from over the hill, it did not disappoint. He had known they kept the good horses in a separate stable, but he'd never seen them, and he was impressed. It had to be Hugo's horse, a black Arabian mare called Mara. But it was not Hugo riding her - it was a girl. He could only guess it was Laura, though he'd never actually seen her before. She rode past the house at a gallop and then dismounted when she reached the circle of dry river sand that acted as a manege where she had the horse do laps. He was obscured by the screen - she could not see him.

She was older than Hugo, who was in his early twenties despite his thinning hair. She wore boots, as did everyone when outside, but hers were not the coarse rubber yellow-soled Wellingtons, they were riding boots, somehow made waterproof. She had brown trousers despite the heat, a white sleeveless shirt, and a broad-brimmed straw hat. Hugo also wore broad-brimmed hats, one of the reasons Mozzie called him 'the cowboy', and Neal had to admit that they were useful. On his first day at the farm, Neal had been wearing camel shoes, cream chinos and a white long-sleeved shirt, which he'd considered weather-appropriate. Hugo had told him, laughing, that he only needed a Panama hat to look like an expat version of Pablo Escobar, and Neal had kept his brand new paper-braided fedora deep in his luggage since then. He had refused the Wellington boots; after all there was grass all around the house, why would he need them? It wasn't even raining. Then his leather shoes had sunk in the tall grass and into the soft red mud beneath, to be forever stained. Two weeks in, he'd stopped wearing any of his old clothes, forsaking looks for practicality and comfort, convincing himself it was only temporary. He still longed for the suits and ties he'd left behind, and several times, he'd wondered what Peter would think if he saw him now.

Still, he wasn't sure if the change of clothes was enough to make him fit in. If he compared them, they were not all that different from what Laura wore, but Laura was a local and she seemed to belong like only locals could. Neal had felt like he belonged only in New York, and now he didn't feel like he could be at home anywhere else, but he was doing his best. Now, as Laura mounted again and left for the hills, he stood and went in, set on putting on his best hat. He was already an outsider no matter what he wore, and if he was to be compared to Escobar, he might as well put on a good performance.

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* * *

Mr. Vogt sat at the head of the dining room table. "Come on. Sing!"

Mozzie nodded, and lifted the edge of the upturned leather cup he held against the table, and peered at his dice. For the first time in two weeks he was playing with more than ten dice, and he was still adjusting to the larger numbers. There were twenty-five dice in the table now, Hugo, Laura, Vogt, the grandkid and himself each had five dice under their cups - it was their first round. He'd been the one to start but now the turn had gone all around the table and had come back to him. David, Vogt's grandkid, had just called nine aces, and was now staring mischievously at him from the seat to his left.

"That must be a good hand you've got there, kid," he muttered.

"Is it?" said David, smiling. _Oh, you rascal_. He wasn't telling. If Mozzie doubted, and the kid had five aces, he was done for. His odds were 1/6 faces and 9/25. He did the formulae in his head, and the result was not good. Ten aces was too much, but nine? It was perfectly possible. The kid's face was straight, he revealed nothing, and Mozzie didn't know him so well so as to be able to tell if he played honest or not. For all he knew, David could have no aces at all.

"I'm afraid David's put you on a spot there," said Vogt, smiling. "Don't feel bad, I've been playing with him since he was two."

_You could've mentioned that earlier... _Mozzie wanted to say that though he'd never played Liar's Dice before coming to the farm, he was no stranger to lying. But he held his tongue. This wasn't Poker, there was more to this game than bluffing. There was maths, and probabilities, and strategy, and yes, of course, bluffing was a major part of it. _If Neal sat to his right, they could set up quite the game_...

"So what do you say? Up, or doubt?" David insisted. Mozzie looked at his dice again, and considered his options. If he upped, and said ten aces, Hugo would doubt him without blinking. If he doubted David, he was at his mercy. He could pass, but his dice weren't all the same or all different values, so Hugo could doubt his pass and he would lose anyway. The only thing he had left was to guess that there were nine aces on the table _exactly._

"I'll square it," he said. There were surprised gasps, and David chuckled.

"You should've doubted," he said, pulling up his cup to reveal a hand with no aces. Mozzie cursed.

"I wouldn't be too sure," said Old Vogt, as he looked around the remaining open cups. Mozzie had one ace, but Old Vogt had three, Hugo had two, and Laura had three.

"One... three... two... three... That's nine! Square nine, I beat you, kid, HA!" Mozzie cried out, and picked another dice from the leather box that held the cups they weren't using. David frowned, looking sullen despite the fact that he didn't have to give up a dice to a square, but when he saw Mozzie grabbing a sixth dice for his cup he leapt up.

"He can't have a sixth dice! You don't earn a dice when you've already got five."

"That's right. Give it back, Mosquito Man," said Vogt. Mozzie tossed it back in the box.

"I swear, you invent the rules to suit you," he grumbled. He placed his five dice back in his cup, rattled it against his hand, and slammed it against the table. Four consecutive slams sounded as the rest got ready for the next round, while Vogt turned back to fill back their glasses with bright yellow passion fruit juice. He topped his own glass with clear grape brandy, then set down the bottle on the table for others to grab, but he slapped down David's hand as he reached for it.

"That's not for you."

"I'm just joking, Grandpa," he said, laughing but holding his hand back. Having lost, he was just about to peer at his dice to make the first call when the door was pushed open.

"Got a place for one more?" said Neal. Mozzie raised his head, and gaped in surprise.

W-C-W-C-W-C-W-C-W-C-W-C

* * *

"You look like a Miami drug dealer," Mozzie hissed, making a seat for Neal to his right. Neal sat down, and smiled at his friend.

"Thanks," he said. "I like this jacket, the fabric's really light weight. I was going for Pablo Escobar, but Miami drug dealer will work too, I'm just missing a mojito." He reached for the clear bottle in the table, and read the label. "Pure Pisco. Nice," he said, and turning back he picked up a tiny glass from the counter, and poured himself the drink. It was not quite a shot glass, it was narrower and curved upward. When he raised his eyes he was satisfied at finding Laura staring at him. Up close, he could see her hair was a chestnut colour, not dark brown like he'd thought seeing her at a distance. She had a redhead's freckles, and her eyes were a pretty light amber.

Mozzie stepped on his shoe, hard. Neal pulled his eyes away and raised the glass to his lips.

"Ugh! You drink it like that?" said David, sitting to Mozzie's left. "It's like rubbing alcohol."

Neal smiled. "On the contrary, this is the only way to appreciate the taste," he said, taking a sip of the strong liquor. Old Vogt scoffed, and drunk a big gulp of his tall glass.

"You like Pisco?" Laura asked. Her voice was low-pitched, and she spoke Spanish with a coastal accent.

"It's good. Though I prefer wine. I'm Neal, by the way." He stretched a hand towards her. She seemed a little puzzled by it, as if the gesture was alien to her, but she shook it anyway.

"Yes, I know," she said. "What was it you were here for? Working on your language skills?"

Neal cast Mozzie a look out of the corner of his eyes. They had agreed not to use that cover story anymore. He smiled at the girl.

"Actually, I'm an artist," he said, and the word seemed strangely foreign in his mouth - that is, without the word _con_ before it. "Mozzie said you worked in the village. What do you do?"

"I'm a teacher," she said.

"Oh. I taught in college once..." Neal said, ignoring a warning look from Mozzie, which was followed by a second stomping of his foot. Of course, he'd faked his way into that position, but Laura didn't have to know. "What do you teach?"

Laura blushed, as if with shame. "Not in a college. High school English and chemistry, and primary school science." She turned away, lifting her chin. "There is no higher education in this district and there's only four of us teachers, I fill in where I can." She almost looked ashamed. Neal nodded, feeling bad for embarrassing her though that had not been his intention. By her accent, he'd guessed she had studied in the capital, she could've probably worked much more comfortably there, but she had chosen a small rural public school instead. He was about to ask why, when Mozzie butted in.

"Can we get on with the game?" he said.

"Of course, that is in order," said Vogt. "David, give our guest a cup."

"But we've already started..."

"And you got squared. We all have five dice, what's the difference?"

David grumbled, but complied, handing Neal a stitched leather cup that was beautifully embossed, and that held five dark wood dice of uneven shapes inside. He smiled.

"So, what's this game about?" he asked, though he already had an idea of how it went. They all sighed, annoyed, and they raised their cups and turned them up again, while Mozzie turned to explain.

"We each have five dice under our cups and you can only see under your own cup. You guess the minimum number of dice present on the table. If I start with, say, five threes, the person next to me can only up, be it in face values, saying five fours, five fives, or in dice numbers, saying six threes, or in both, saying six sixes. There's no limit, only it has to be up. Aces are like jokers, they count as any number, except when we're calling aces, in which case you only count aces, obviously. If we're in numbers and you want to switch to aces, the number of aces equals half plus one of the previous number of dice called. Say, you call ten sixes, I can say six aces. But if David here wants to switch back to numbers, he has to go with, say, thirteen fours. Each turn you have, you can either up, pass, or doubt. If you pass, your pass can be doubted, you can only validly pass if you have all different or all equal values on your five dice. If it's your turn, you can also choose to doubt someone else's pass even if the person next to them didn't. If you doubt, we all reveal our dice, and if the amount you doubted is present, you lose a dice. If it's not, the person who called it loses a dice. If you guess the exact number, calling a square, you earn a dice. Last man standing wins."

"That's right," said Old Vogt, and he ruffled and slammed down his cup on the table again. The others did the same, and Neal copied them, hitting the wood a little too hard and making the glasses rattle. "David, your turn. Sing!"

"New guy should start."

"David..."

"No, it's all right. I'll give it a go," said Neal. He peered at his dice, twisted his lips like he was counting, then he put down his cup. "Eight twos," he said.

"That's ambitious. You want it to end fast? Nine twos," said Hugo, to his right.

Neal lifted his cup. He had no twos, he'd picked the number at random. There were thirty dice on the table. He smiled, and looked up, waiting for Laura.

"Five aces," she said, switching the values, and she opened her cup and pushed two aces out, then she ruffled the remaining three dice in her cup, and brought it down to the table again.

"Can she do that?" Neal asked Mozzie, carefully planning the hesitation in his voice. Mozzie nodded.

"Ah, she's playing it safe." Old Vogt chuckled. "Where's the fun in that? Eleven twos."

Neal smiled. They were all still going with the twos.

"Eleven fives," said David. He probably had a bunch of fives, thought Neal.

"Twelve twos," said Mozzie.

"Twelve. Out of thirty?" said Neal, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"Remember it's the aces too," his friend told him. Neal frowned, though inwardly he was smiling, and he peeked at the edge of his cup, covering the edges with his hands but lifting it far enough for the others to notice. Then he put it back down and laughed. "All right! I'll go with it. Thirteen twos." There was at least a minute of silence while Hugo checked his dice, then peered at Laura's aces, mentally calculating his odds.

"Fourteen twos," said Hugo. Laura looked up at Neal, and without a second of thought she shook her head.

"I doubt it," she said, pulling up her cup, revealing a six, a three and a four, besides her two aces. Neal counted quick. Ten twos on the table. Not fourteen. Not even close. Hugo tossed a dice in the centre, and Old Vogt smiled, looking at Neal.

"You're a card player?" he asked, recognising him as the initially bluffer. Neal nodded. He had initially considered playing dumb a few rounds, just to get an idea of the game and how the rest played. But it was called _Liar's Dice_. He hadn't been able to resist himself.

"I've played some poker," he answered, flashing a smile, but his eyes were glancing sideways at Laura.

"This ought to be an interesting game," said Old Vogt. Neal rolled his dice under his cup again.

W-C-W-C-W-C-W-C-W-C-W-C

* * *

After twenty rounds, ten dice remaining on the table, only Neal still had his five, Mozzie staying with one, Laura with three, and Old Vogt just having lost his fourth dice, spurring a special round. David was out and just sat there trying to get everyone to doubt, while Hugo had long left the table.

"Straight face, or no looking, your choice," said David. So far everyone down to one dice had chosen a straight face for their individual "reckoning" round. Now Vogt shook his head.

"We'll do this without looking," he said. They all slammed their cups down, but refrained from peering underneath. Neal's mind raced. He needed to plan this round, make it so it did not come to him in the end, because he could not bluff now that he did not know his hand. He needed a right setup.

"Four threes," started Vogt. Four out of ten was a high number to start.

"Five threes," said Mozzie, opting for raising the value so the weight would fall on Laura or back on Vogt. Neal pondered a moment. 50% of all dice being either aces or threes was stretching it, but he couldn't doubt on Mozzie.

"You go six threes, and I'll doubt you," Laura warned. She'd been trying to doubt Neal ever since Hugo no longer sat between them, but Neal had always managed to push the game so it did not end with her. She was really trying, though. One dice she'd lost to doubting Neal's pass.

"Five sixes, then," he said. Laura's eyes twinkled.

"I'll square," she said, smiling.

"Sure you want to do that?" The odds of her guessing were up against her.

"Let's see your dice, mister," she said. They all lifted their cups, and she quickly counted three aces, two sixes. _Just right_. She stretched her hand to the middle and grabbed another dice for her cup. She turned to Neal, showing him the dice.

"You owed me this one," she said, then she ruffled and banged her cup hard. "Your call now."

Neal made Laura give back her fourth dice on the next round, but when she called next, she was ready for revenge. She peeked at her cup, with a sly smile, then she looked up at Neal.

"Four twos," she said.

"Four sixes," said Vogt.

"Five twos," said Mozzie, staring at Laura. Neal was staring at her as well, and he was thinking of that smile she'd had on when she had started with twos. He had never doubted Mozzie, and she was counting on it.

"I'm sorry, Mozz. I'm going to have to doubt you here," he said. Mozzie turned in shock, then Laura lifted her cup. She had no twos. Neal had two, and Mozzie had an ace. Three. Not enough. He threw his last remaining dice to the centre of the table and kept his arms crossed. Beneath the bed, his foot stomped Neal's again.

"Traitor," he hissed.

"You should've seen it coming."

Vogt was gone in the next round too, and he left the table. With only eight dice remaining, having two more was a great advantage, but as it turned out, it was very different to play one on one. The first time he called, he called a number he had, just to be safe, and Laura took the risk and immediately squared, gaining back her fourth dice a second time.

It was the twenty-third round. He had no aces, and no threes, so when Laura called four threes he thought it was an easy doubt, after all, it was impossible to raise. Then he lifted his eyes towards her. She was smiling a big-toothed smile, her eyes crinkling. She knew she had him in a corner.

"Do you have those four threes?" he asked, staring as intently as he could, but she didn't let anything on. His eyes went down to her hands, checking for odd movements, but they were still, all her fingers clutching the cup.

"Maybe I do."

"I think you're lying."

"Maybe I am. You should doubt me."

"I should." He leaned back against the chair, then his smile wavered as he realised what he'd just said. He cursed himself for it, he should know better.

"Ah, so you're saying you've got no threes?" she said, catching on.

"No, I'm not saying that."

"Really? Because it seemed to me that you just did." She leaned back across the table, her heavy hair covering her cup. He was surprised to find she was speaking in English now, her voice was smooth and grave and her accent neutral with only a slight Spanish stilt. Neal realised he had no idea. He took a sip of his drink to try and make the anxiousness disappear, but why should he be anxious? It was such a strange feeling, but he understood where it came from. _Because he didn't know_. He couldn't tell. He should be able to call her bluff, but he couldn't, and he felt transparent. Was she lying? Was she telling the truth? He didn't know, he couldn't see it, and it frustrated him to no end. He always knew, but she had no tell, or was it that he hadn't seen it? If she was telling the truth he had no choice but to square, and it would be a stale mate. If he doubted, he'd be down one dice. But if she was lying, he had to doubt. He couldn't change to another value, because he had no higher value. He could not change to aces because he had no aces, and it was quite obvious now that she knew that too, and he would be handing over all control to her. There was no safe choice here. He looked up at her, and smiled.

"Does it matter to you if I have or don't have threes?" he said. Laura wasn't bothered.

"Not at all, it matters to you. It's your turn, isn't it?"

"I don't think you have those threes."

"Then why don't you doubt? Come on. I'm getting bored. Just doubt."

"What if you have four aces?"

"I don't have four aces. Seriously, the odds of that? I'm telling you, just doubt. Trust me."

Neal laughed. "Right. Do you have those threes or don't you?"

"You want me to tell you?"

"Yes."

She leaned in closer. "I have one hell of a hand, two aces and two threes. Now, you can call four fours if you like. Play safe." _What angle is she playing?_

"That's not safe. You want me to doubt, don't you?"

"You can do whatever you want, but just do it. This game's already taken way too long."

"I agree," Mozzie butted in, still sitting arms crossed, but Neal cast him a look, and he was silent. Neal stared at Laura, trying to catch a slight reddening of her face, or maybe a twitch, a nervous tick. _Nothing_.

"You have those threes. You can't be this good a liar."

"Then square. You know, I won't lose a dice if you do. How about we make a wager?"

Neal raised his eyebrows.

"What do you have in mind?"

"The dark hole for twenty minutes," David suddenly called out in a shrill voice from his seat, looking excited. Laura laughed.

"We're all adults here," she said.

"What's the dark hole?" said Neal.

"It's a clearing in the forest. You stay twenty minutes, and then come back."

"That doesn't sound too bad... We could do that," Neal agreed.

"Are you sure?" said Laura.

"Come on. Are you scared?" he asked her. She scoffed. "So it's settled. But what about the winner?"

"What, you want a prize, too?"

"Sure. That horse you rode today," said Neal - he didn't even have to think about it. "If I win, I get to borrow her for a day."

"Mara's feisty, you know."

"Oh, I think I can handle it."

"And what if I win?"

"I'll make you a painting."

"Oh. So you really are an artist, then.."

"Of course I am. I'm quite good, ask Mozzie. So how about it?"

"I think we have a deal," she said. "Better make it a very pretty painting. Now, call."

"Yes, _please_, Neal, call. It's getting late. You know the bugs will eat us on the way back," said Mozzie, though he seemed a little more interested in the game now. Neal stared at Laura, sighed, and made his decision.

"I will square," he said, lifting his cup. He immediately regretted it, _God_, she knew he had nothing and she was smiling now, he should have doubted, he should've doubted.

"I told you to doubt, Mr. Astronaut," she said, revealing an ace, two threes, and a four. Three-threes, she'd been playing with fire, trusting Neal had nothing, trusting he wouldn't doubt. How had she known? "Throw one in the centre, Neal. And it's your call now." Neal threw his smallest dice, and tried to laugh it off, she still wasn't winning, they were tied, he could win this. Then, as he reached for the bottle of brandy, he felt pressure on his foot again.

"Neal, a word," said Mozzie.

"What? What it-"

"Excuse me, my friend and I need to discuss the game strategy now that the stakes have been raised," said Mozzie. Laura just shrugged, a twisted smile on her face.

"Go ahead. I'll refill your drinks with something stronger in the meantime."

Mozzie led Neal to the corridor and from there under the shadow of the stairs.

"Seriously, Mozz, if you keep this up, my toenails will fall off..."

"What are you doing?" Mozzie hissed. Neal shrugged, smiling.

"What? It's just a game."

"Please tell me you let her win that last round..." Mozzie waited. Neal looked away, uncomfortable, until Mozzie gasped. "Neal!"

"What? She's good!"

"You're better! What's wrong with you? You weren't even trying. Is she distracting you?"

"Oh, come on, Mozz, really, it's _just a game..._"

"Exactly! You should have no trouble with it, it's Liar's Dice! What has the Suit done with you? You're completely out of practice."

"I'm not out of practice! Look, I just haven't found her tell yet. I need her tell. I don't even know her, or the game, what did you expect?"

"What did I expect? For you to win! Easily! As always!"

"Mozzie..."

"If you say you've still got it, then win."

"I'll win." Neal nodded, and started back to the big table. "I'll win."

Laura was still sitting in her seat, though David had left for the living room. On the bench of the kitchen, a few feet apart, Old Vogt was repeatedly slamming his cup against the wood, counting the rolls it would take him to get all faces alike. Laura leaned forwards, and drunk a sip of the amber coloured drink now in her glass.

"Ooh, scotch?" Mozzie asked, grabbing the glass eagerly. Laura tossed her head back, her laugh deep-throated.

"It's _Lazarus Rise_."

Mozzie stared at her. "That's the name of the drink? Are you serious?" he said, pulling the fat bottle towards him. Then he raised the glass to his mouth and took a sip. He raised his head, eyes wide. "It's good...!" Then he swallowed, and looked at the bottle again. "What _is _this?"

Neal sat down, and Laura turned towards him.

"So, you're back ready from your pep talk?" she said, but Neal didn't humour her by blushing, and he kept his grin straight. He placed his dice back inside his cup, rattled them, and brought it down to the desk without touching the drink she'd served him - he was determined now, he was going to win. He peeked at his numbers. He had a good hand, but he felt he still was in a position of inferiority by having to call first. He put his game face back on, peering for a second in the mirror behind the bar to be sure it was fool-proof. He called, she raised, then so did he, and then Laura doubted, showing her dice. Underneath the table, Mozzie stepped on his foot.

"Damn it, Mozz, that one hurt," he whispered.

"You lose another one. Now call," said Laura.

Neal ruffled his dice again, his eyes fixed on Laura's hands trying to catch a cheat, but there was nothing. He decided to lie this time.

"Three aces," he called.

"Doubt," said Laura. She didn't even blink. She didn't think about it. She had no aces. Neal tossed another dice, only two left now, and he raised his head towards her, laughing, pretending he didn't care that she was putting him to shame when actually, he really did.

"How do you do that?" he asked.

"Practice. It's a predictable game. Your call."

"One six."

"Coward."

"I said one six, what's your call."

"Two aces."

"Three aces," Neal upped. He had no aces, but tried to make it sound as though he had two.

"Four aces," said Laura.

"Doubt."

She raised her cup. She had four aces. This time he let out a hissing breath. She tossed her head back, laughing.

"This is just not possible. You're cheating, somehow..."

"Cheating?" She kept laughing. Even her laughter was grave.

"I don't know how you're doing it, but-"

"Oh, come on. It is your first time playing this game, you shouldn't feel bad," she said. "Or are those twenty minutes in the forest starting to sound not so inviting?"

Neal just scoffed, and ruffled his last remaining dice.

"No looking this round," he said.

"Sure. Only five dice left, remember that."

"I will. One two," he said. Laura smiled a smug smile, and then, as if she was going for the knockout, she said:

"I'm going to doubt that."

She raised both her cup and Neal's at the same time. There were no twos. There were no aces. She laughed and whooped like a little girl, and Neal had to hold his breath. _No one was so lucky. _He tossed his last dice away, to join the twenty-five already in the middle. He'd lost. Lost. It felt so strange.

"So, how quick a painter are you?" Laura asked him. Neal shook her hand - her grip was tight and long - and smiled. He didn't lose often, but whenever he did he was a graceful loser.

"I'll have something for you next week. It was a good game, congratulations."

"A pleasure playing with you, Mr. Astronaut."

"It's Neal."

She shrugged. "Never heard of anyone called Neal besides Neil Armstrong." Neal frowned, catching the mistrust in her voice for the first time. _She doesn't believe it's my real name._

"My mother gave me that name," he told her, despite feeling Mozzie's disapproving glance.

"Ah, well." She stood, and looked outside. "Ready for your twenty minutes in the hole?"

"Oh... Is that still on? Thought we were joking," he said, rolling his eyes and stepping back.

"Sure you did. Or what is it... are you scared?" she used his own words and imitated his accent to perfection. Neal smiled, but this time he was sure it looked more like a smirk. He still could not believe he had lost, not this way, not in a bluffing game, and not to _her, _a schoolteacher from the South American rainforest. She was staring at him now, expectantly. It was almost as if she wanted to see him humiliated, and what had he ever done to her? Did she resent their presence there? Maybe he'd been a _little_ condescending... He had definitely underestimated her.

"A deal's a deal," she said. Mozzie looked annoyed.

"Oh, let's just call it a night. What are you two, twelve? It's almost midnight, there might be jaguars prowling outside..."

"Jaguars? There are no jaguars this far west. It's snakes you should be concerned about," said Laura. Mozzie opened his eyes wide and was about to protest, but Neal stepped up.

"Mozz, it's _fine_. You'll just stay here."

"I don't like being out so late. You know the great majority of jungle critters are nocturnal? Including the predators."

"Mozz..."

"Midnight is also the prime feeding time of female _Anopheles_ mosquitoes, which, in case you've forgotten, are the kind that transmit malaria. And I've already got... three, no, four! bites on my arms." Mozzie scratched his forearms furiously, but Neal just rolled his eyes.

"Laura's right, a deal's a deal." He shrugged, and plastered a bright smile on his face. "It's just twenty minutes in a forest. Piece of cake."

"Child's play, right?" Laura agreed, and the three of them walked to the veranda, David following close behind with a rattling box held in his hand.

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* * *

Laura told him to go on a straight line, and so he did, but three steps in, when he looked back, he could no longer see her, or Mozzie, or David. He drew a deep breath, taking in the damp air that smelled of clay and wet leaves, and he kept going forwards in large strides, counting. The path he followed wasn't clear, plants grew as tall as his waist and they brushed against him sending shivers up his spine, but he knew it was a path, because everything else around him was a solid dark wall of vegetation. He counted ten paces, just ten more to go, and he thought of just staying there, it wasn't like Laura would know he had not reached the clearing. Only she'd told him there was a small pool of water there, collecting at the depression in the ground that they called the hole. If he came back and his feet were dry, she would know he had not gone the entire distance. He also considered getting there, dipping his feet, and then going back near the field where the trees were not so dense and it wasn't so dark. But, again, he guessed that she would know. Somehow. If he had not been able to fool her in a game, he imagined lying and getting away with it might prove difficult.

He counted fifteen and his feet started to sink more into the mulch-covered ground beneath. He took another step, and had to duck over a branch. Something slithered away. Every time he got close to the source of whatever creature was making noise, the noise would stop. He imagined that if he lit up one of his matches he would see a whole army of strange bugs and creatures scurrying away. But he only had three matches, he had to save them. The twenty minutes only counted once he was in the hole, and he imagined it would be even darker there. He walked on, ignoring the sounds and the plants brushing against his clothes and his face, and he felt strong. Laura probably thought he would chicken out, she probably thought he was a proud, arrogant American who didn't know a thing about this place she called home. She wasn't entirely wrong. He _was_ proud, but he was not stupid or frightful, and he would stay those twenty minutes in absolute calm. If she only knew the sort of situations he'd been trapped in before... This was nothing. This was just a game.

His feet sunk and cold water seeped through his shoes and socks and up his pants.

"Okay, I'm here!" he called out. He got no answer, but he knew the timer had started. He made a point of setting off his own timer before leaving, because he suspected they would not tell him when the time was done, and he pressed the button of his watch to get it started. He regretted wearing the old watch he was wearing, one with a back light would've been useful. He tried to shuffle back to drier land, but when he took a step towards where he thought was the way he'd come from, he only sank deeper. He missed the ugly wellington boots, and wished he'd worn them that night, too. He imagined he would get leeches up his bare ankles.

He couldn't sit. Though standing was uncomfortable and it did not avoid the bugs, the idea of something crawling up his back under his shirt made him shudder, and he remained straight, tucking his shirt under his belt and pulling his socks above his pants. It wasn't long before he grew restless, and he figured he might as well use one of the matches now. It lit up in his hand, and was very bright for a moment. Then he saw something move, and he wheeled around, splashing in the pool. A giant spider web was inches from his face, and he leapt back and almost fell. He dropped the match, but he immediately lit another, the dark crushing now after the light. He held it until his fingers burned, and he peered at his watch. Only two minutes? That couldn't be! He must have set the thing wrong...

He saved the last match for the way back, because though he was only twenty paces away from the field, he had no idea in which direction it was, and he was having a new understanding of how easy it was to get lost in the jungle. He could've been just a pace away, and he still would not have known the way. Swatting whatever came close to his face away, he squatted low on the ground with his hands wrapped around his knees. _Peter, you'd laugh if you could see me now_. He reckoned Peter would like Laura, or at least he would like the way she had disarmed him, very much like Diana had that first day. But Peter would suspect Laura. She was too good a liar for a schoolteacher, and if that was clear to him then it would be clear to Peter too - _scratch all that, Peter's never going to meet he_r. But yes, she was a con, he just had no idea what her con was. Maybe they could team up. She was smart, he could tell, and he liked her name. Her family pronounced it Lah-oo-rrah, not Law-rah. He wouldn't say she was beautiful, not like Sara or Alex were beautiful, but there was still a grace to her, he liked the grave sound of her voice. Or was this just instinct talking, because she was the only girl around? _That just goes to say... isolation is affecting me. _

It was very dark, but he wasn't bothered by it. It was kind of like swimming without goggles. He had always liked it when the water was deep and he couldn't see the bottom, because when it was clear he would see the shapes beneath and every cluster of algae would look like a shark. There was a certain thrill in not knowing what was down there that he'd always liked. He remembered the murky water of a river he'd swam in when he was a boy, and how they'd had this game where they would dive and reach for the sandy bottom, each time deeper and deeper, until someone chickened out. He was good at that game. He had never been afraid of the dark river bed, and he wasn't afraid of this dark forest either.

He knew he had to wait, and he waited. He tried not to move, his eyes tight shut and his hand covering his nose as he breathed in case a mosquito decided to fly too close. In his mind, a Caribbean island was sounding better and better. Or, better still, a beach in the Costa Brava, or in Nice. An island in the Mediterranean. Bright, deep, turquoise ocean, not slow green river-water, brimming with pirañas, and leeches, and slimy fish out of nightmares that were capable of swimming into one's insides. Yes, Southern Europe sounded _very _good.

Then light flashed. In an instant, it was gone, and he thought it had been lightning, but though he waited he heard no thunder. Then he saw them. Little flashes of light, turning on and off. The moon slowly rose, and when he turned around and watched the forest appear around him once more, this time under a softer light, he understood Vogt's neon painting on the dining room wall. Everything, suddenly, seemed to glow. The silver light caught on the leaves and they shone bright blue, the pool glimmered and reflected the moon. He could see the outline of trees traced by fireflies akin to Christmas lights, flashing on and off until they were lighting up in seemingly synchronised patterns. Fireflies. He could not remember the last time he'd seen a firefly, and never so many, never of so many colours, they were almost like the neon lights of a city. They were brighter than the stars, and they moved, and when they were close he could hear them and their buzz did not bother him like the buzzing of mosquitoes. It was like a vibration, nice and steady.

It felt like a dream, and he was not bothered any more. He could not believe he was so close to the house, standing there felt like he was so far, miles and miles from any semblance of civilisation, as though he was standing in a place no living person had ever stood before, seeing things no one had ever seen. And yet he didn't feel alone, or anxious, or insecure. It all felt _right_.

The clicker of his timer stopped, and he reached out for the trees to get back into the path. He found it on the first try, and he made his way back to the field without having to light his third match. The moment he was out, he saw Laura's eyebrows rise in shock, and Mozzie ran up to him.

"What? You expected me to scream for help, come back running in fear? It's just a forest," he said. Laura frowned.

"I was just going in to look for you, your friend was freaking out."

"What on earth took you so long!?" Mozzie shouted. His glasses were fogged over and even in the dark his face looked flushed.

"What do you mean?"

Laura showed him her watch, with the chronometer. It marked 39 minutes.

"That can't be right, I set up my own timer." He peered into his watch. The time read four minutes past 12 AM. "I must've turned it too much..."

"Turned it too much? Are you joking? I thought you were writhing in pain following a bite from a bullet ant!" Mozzie's high voice echoed in the hillock, and Neal placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Mozz, I think you drunk a bit too much of that liqueur, keep it down, please. There're people sleeping in the house."

Mozzie crossed his arms, and turned away.

"Most people spend less time there than they think, not more," said Laura, turning towards him. Neal shrugged.

"I'm not most people. If I'd been eight years old I might have been scared... Got a few bites and I need a shower, but it was a walk in the park otherwise," he said. He sounded more nonchalant than he actually felt, but he was feeling confident again, and he knew he'd fooled her this time. She needed to know she'd underestimated him, too. Next time they played, he would win. "I'll have your painting soon."

"Right," said Laura, and she smiled and turned for the house. "I'll see you next Friday."

"For a rematch?"

"Maybe."

"We could make it best of three."

"Now, wouldn't you like that..."

"Neal, _Anopheles _mosquitoes. Need I remind you again?" said Mozzie. Neal kept staring at Laura, until she finally started walking away.

"Listen to your friend, Neal," she said. Neal nodded, pulling down the brim of his hat, and he turned too.

"Good night."

They started walking in opposite directions, and once they had gone over the hill, she was no longer visible. Mozzie was talking about something, his voice fast and worked up, but Neal felt his mind wonder away. Suddenly he wasn't worried about his old life and his old problems, and he didn't feel hollow when he remembered what he'd left behind. He felt excitement again, something he'd been looking for without realising it. The excitement of possibilities.

He thought of the painting again, the one at the head of the table on the wall of Mr. Vogt's dining room. He had to make his own. He had to put the colours he'd seen on the canvas, tonight, while they were fresh on his mind.

* * *

Mozzie kept veering to the left as they walked up and down the rolling hill to the house. Neal had to pull him by his shirt back on track, keeping him clear of the sleeping cattle, but he was feeling slightly unsteady himself and they took almost half an hour to get back up the veranda. Mozzie went straight to bed, but Neal closed the netted door and slumped on the hammock, turning the lights off so that he could see clearly out into the forest. He stared at it for a long time. Sometimes he thought the fireflies were really lights, and that there were people there deep in the jungle. Then they'd fly off, lighting up the already starry sky. He had missed the stars. He had not seen them during the two years he'd spent in New York, and it had been even longer since he'd last laid eyes on the stars of the Southern Hemisphere. He recognised the Cross, and Orion's Belt, but he'd forgotten about the other constellations.

Over an hour passed, before he finally stood and went inside. Thrown among other things in the storage room, he'd seen a large blackboard, and he went to pull it out. The place was covered in spider webs, so he had to go in bug-spray in hand, but after some wriggling around the stuffed room he managed to drag the board out to the veranda and find beneath it a complete set of brightly coloured chalks. _Perfect. _He didn't even bother to change his dirty web-covered clothing, and he started working right away. He'd promised Laura a painting, but that could wait till the morning - he'd do her a quick copy of _Starry Night_ and she would probably be more impressed with it than if he tried something original.

He wasn't looking at Vogt's painting, and the scene he'd chosen was different. It was not a river, but a forest, as seen from the ground looking up at the canopy. He didn't have to think of Vogt's painting to remember the colours and the shapes and the style. He'd seen the forest aglow himself. He was not making anything up, and the phosphorescent colours simply looked right. They were not forced, or exaggerated, they were right, and the shape of the leaves was right, and the way light crept in between them, shining blue, was also right. He had not felt that while painting in a long, long time, because this, he realised, was not a copy of a style, but of a place. It came from his mind, and his hands knew what to do and they followed his thoughts exactly. He kept at it, moving on to the sides of the blackboard and changing his colours as the night sky changed, till the very edges of his work were the bright blue of daylight, and the sun lit up the trees in front of the veranda at dawn.

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When Mozzie walked into the veranda table, holding the tray of his breakfast and looking very hung-over, he almost spit out his coffee when he saw the blackboard. Neal was staring at him from the hammock, beaming, waiting for his friend to find words again. But when he did, they were not those he'd been expecting.

"I hope for your sake that your female nemesis is not responsible for this," he said in a paused tone. Neal dropped his smile, looking annoyed, and he sat up on the hammock. He stared at Mozzie, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

"Is that all you've got to say?"

Mozzie looked at the board again, stepping back so that he could see it whole. He tilted his head to the left, then to the right, then he shook it, and grabbed it with his hands as if he'd regretted the movement.

"Sorry. I got a headache, that girl tried to poison me. I'm not getting this thing."

Neal rolled his eyes, and stood to sit at the table. Mozzie had not seen the forest at night, he would not understand, and he didn't feel like explaining it to him. Mozzie gave up, and sat down to drink his coffee. The tiny painted china cup he held reminded Neal of June's coffee, and he smiled.

"Oh, no. I know that look."

"What?" Neal raised his eyes, but kept his smile.

"_That_ look! Right there! Neal, you can't do this to me."

"Seriously, Mozzie, I don't-"

"The girl. Laura."

"Actually, I was thinking about June."

"Your lies don't work with me."

"I'm not lying."

"So you haven't giver her any thought? Even after she publicly humiliated you?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "Well, she's suspicious. She's not like Vogt and Hugo. Did you hear how she said my name? She thinks we're lying."

"Because we _are_ lying. And let me tell you, that Escobar impersonation act yesterday? Definitely helped. And when I say 'helped', I mean, _made it a whole lot worse_. You did this for her, didn't you."

"No. This is for me. I'll sketch her _Starry Night _later."

Mozzie removed his glasses and squinted at him, but Neal remained still until his friend placed his glasses back on and sat back down, sighing with relief.

"All right. But remember," he raised two fingers in the air. "Don't lose sight of the goal. We're here to lay low. We don't want to end up in an extradition trial. After we've moved on, it's open season, but right now, we're just two boring expats looking for a quiet year abroad to perfect our language skills."

"Stop telling that to people! That story sucks."

"Then think of another, genius. See how you like having to change your story every time. That's how it'll feel like if that girl blows our covers and we're forced to run from this place because you refused to use your alias."

"We don't even have covers, Mozz."

"But you did have an alias!"

**WC-WC-WC**

**Whoa, really massive chapter! And there will be more soon! I hope you didn't find this chapter confusing, and if you did let me know if there's something I can do to fix it. Thanks for reading, leave a review if you like! They truly make my day! I have a few Original Characters in this fic, but for plot purposes mostly. **

**PS: So dice is plural. I confused the plural and singular for dice (die), and I ended up using the plural for all of it. I'll go back and change it later but for now please forgive me.**


	3. Chapter 3

**1. Peter**

**A/N: Again, thank you everyone for reading/reviewing/favouriting and the whole thing. You brighten my foggy winter days. I'm back with Peter now and some more mystery, then next chapter we get back to Neal. I hope you like this! I finally figured out how to put proper line breaks in this thing. **

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"Do you know where this Vogt guy's farm is?" Peter asked his guide. Nico was sitting in front of his truck's wheel, with a massive topographical map spread out on the dashboard. Peter watched as his fingers traced the river and finally stopped at a dot marked in ball-point.

"It's here. Just by the river, and they have a jetty. It's one of the oldest farms around here, but…" He looked up, and pointed at the heavy drops of rain running down the windshield. "This is bad timing for you. Three weeks ago, I could've taken you there in an hour. Now the river's too big for rafts. If the main road is not blocked, we might be able to make it in two or three days. And it will be rough."

"Three _days_? My God, how far is it?"

Nico counted on the map with his fingers. "I'm guessing… forty kilometres. No more than fifty."

"That's nothing! We could walk that much in a day."

"On a proper road, sure, but not here. Trust me, you don't want to be walking here, not when it rains. We'll be all right on the truck. Maybe it hasn't rained that far down river and we'll have a clear trail, who knows..." Nico shrugged, and turned on the engine. Peter took a deep breath. "You're all set?"

"Yeah."

"All right. Let's go get your friends then."

* * *

Peter counted the mileage - the kilometres actually - on the truck's dashboard, and when the marker passed eight he grew hopeful. Nico was going slow, sometimes so exasperatingly slow that Peter wished he could take the wheel from him and step on the pedal down to the floor, but he knew that if he did so, they would either fly off into the river below at a turn, or the truck would break down in pieces from the bumps. The road was corrugated and it had potholes so big you could have a bath in them, but altogether it was firm and not too muddy, and Nico managed it well. The view was something out of a dream. They were going alongside a stream and sometimes Peter could see it far below when there was a gap in the dense forest. The branches hung so close they slapped against the car and at points they completely obscured the sky, letting only scattered light through. They had not passed another car or person since veering away from the main road.

He stared high up, spotting strange birds and enormous blue butterflies. Everything seemed bigger and brighter and more colourful, and if it hadn't been for the heat, and for the anxiousness and concern that he couldn't completely brush off, he would've actually enjoyed himself there. _You sure know how to pick a good place to retire, Neal_. This was no tropical island but it was still its own sort of paradise.

Peter spotted a tree of fiery red leaves ahead and thought that if Elizabeth were with him she would like to press those bright red leaves in a book or something like that, so he stretched his hand out to see if he got one, but before they reached it the nose of the truck dipped in a depression in the ground, and the windscreen was sprayed with muddy red water. Nico braked hard, blinded for a moment, and when he got the windscreen wipers to work the road ahead of them turned sharply to the right, away from the river and up a steep slope that was shaded by trees. They were already going up, it was too late to fully stop or they'd lose momentum, and Nico pushed the engine to a high-pitched roar, the tyres sent mud flying back, but halfway up the slope they lost their grip and started going down again. Nico slapped his wheel and pleaded in Spanish, begging his truck to move, but they only succeeded in burying themselves deeper in the mud. He cursed, and stepped out.

"What is it?" Peter asked, but as he stepped out himself he saw the back tyres sunk almost completely.

"I'm going to tie up the winch. Grab some logs and stick them under the tyres for them to get a grip," said Nico. He went to the front of the car and pulled a thick wire, then climbed with effort and tied it around a large tree at the top of the slope. Peter stared at the trees around him - there were no logs just lying around, not close anyway, and when he bent down to grab some twigs he found the ground covered in ants the size of paperclips.

"Careful with those, they're isulas. They'll have you writing in pain for 24 hours if they bite," said Nico, coming up behind him. He grabbed a machete-like saw from the back, and hacked a few branches of the right size. Then he gave the saw back to Peter.

"No, I think you better keep that, Indy," he said. Nico laughed, and got back on the truck.

"You stay here. If I get up I'll stop at the top and you'll hop on then."

* * *

Nico managed to pry the truck lose after a few tries, but not two hundred metres later they got stuck again, and again, and Peter understood just why it was he'd said it could take days. Peter quickly got the hang of the routine, and they were able to get out of the mud much faster, but still, at the end of the day, exhausted and filthy, they had only managed 13 kilometres. It looked as though no one had attempted the road by truck for months, the only trails were hoof-marked, and in some places they had had to hack down the vegetation that obstructed their path. Peter wondered if they would not have been better off hiring donkeys.

Once it was dark, Nico stopped at a clearing next to the stream, and they set up camp there.

"They must be very good friends of yours," he said, while starting a fire. Peter raised his eyes from the water he was boiling at the stove. He smiled inwardly at the situation – here he was, in the middle of nowhere, chasing criminals so that another agent would not get to them first. Collins would stop at nothing, he would bring Neal back in whichever way he saw fit, and knowing Neal, Peter was sure he would not give up willingly. He shuddered just to think about it, and he looked up at Nico.

"They are… They are."

"Are they involved in anything illegal?"

"What?" Peter almost dropped the pot he held. Nico just smiled.

"Come on. You've come here on a very short notice, obviously. You don't have a lot of information, but you said one might be in trouble. Your friends don't want to be found. If it wasn't for the picture with that man and your wife that you showed me, I would have thought you were searching for fugitives. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind, but if this is something that might turn dangerous I would appreciate it to know in advance."

Peter looked away. He should have expected this, but it all had been so quick he hadn't had a chance to think of a plausible story to tell people, and now he didn't know what to say. He couldn't tell the truth, but he didn't feel like right lying either, not if he still expected Nico to help him.

"Listen... You're right to ask me this. But I assure you, I don't expect any trouble," _Now, that wasn't entirely true, it wasn't ever smooth with Neal and Mozzie._ "My friends, they're not the most law-abiding folk out there, but they're good people and I trust them."

"So they're not involved in..." he trailed off.

"What?"

"Well, smuggling. Running stuff... Daniel told me he thought you might be of the DEA." Nico had not asked the question lightly, but Peter could not help but laugh.

"DEA? Seriously?" he said. Nico shrugged.

"Daniel's been a pilot here a long time, and it's not unheard of. But you're on your own, which is odd. Those folk usually have a 'partner'."

"I'm not DEA. My friends have nothing to do with the drug business, I swear. I promise I won't get you in trouble."

"No, it's all right," said Nico, smiling. "I just wanted to know. Be prepared, you know."

"If I'd been DEA you would've gone along with it, then?"

"Sure. Why not? I'm all up for the war on drugs," he said, shrugging, and Peter returned his attention to the boiling water. Once the bubbles were big he dropped the packet of noodles inside, and watched them disintegrate. It started to rain, but they had set up a tarp above their improvised kitchen, and they were in slightly higher ground so the water did not reach them. Peter took out his phone, but like he'd expected he had no service, and he wrote text messages for them to be sent the moment he was back within reach of a telephone tower.

_El, I'm getting eaten by mutant mosquitoes. I'm sorry I cut you off, but I know where they're staying now. I'm on my way there. I'll call as soon as I can. Keep an eye out for Collins. If you see him, kick his ass for me will you? Bye hon._

_Jones and Diana: Please brief me on Collins. Where is he? Does he know I'm here? I know where Neal is and I need info on his location. Track my phone – but be careful who accesses it. _

After eating, the sky cleared up, lighting up with stars that were different from those Peter remembered from when he was young and tried to keep the North Star in sight. There was no North Star here – but if he got lost, he reckoned it wouldn't be too useful to know where North was anyway. The night wasn't silent, he could not tell which was loudest, the cicadas or the frogs or the screeching birds. Bugs buzzed in a cloud around their gas lamp and every now and then bats would sweep down to the light, coming so close Peter felt their wings batting against his clothes. He had soaked himself in repellent, but still he felt critters crawling and buzzing around him, he swatted them desperately, and stared in anger at Nico who sat calmly in his camping chair, not bothered at all.

"Why don't they bite you?" he asked. "I think I might've already lost a quart of blood…"

"They do bite me. It just doesn't itch so much anymore."

"So you have immunity? How long will I take to develop it?"

Nico laughed. "I was born here."

"You were?"

"Yes. Not in the Elbow, but further west, closer to the mountains, near where you took your plane. My family, they're beekeepers. We make the best honey in the region. Jams, too. You should get some for your wife on your way back, I'll give you a discount."

Peter smiled. "The pilot said you had studied abroad."

"I did. Agronomy, in Bonn. I'm a guide because I like it. I've been thinking on setting up a company, tourism is on the rise here. How about you? What do you do for a living?"

"I studied Maths."

"That sounds boring."

"That's why I don't do it anymore."

"You just rescue your friends from the jungle?"

"It's quite entertaining, actually."

"I'm sure."

* * *

Peter hardly slept. The night was cool but his whole body seemed to be one huge, swollen bug-bite, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that ants were creeping up his shirt, even though he'd made sure his tent and sleeping bag were clear before getting in. Sometime before dawn it rained again, and though he was dry inside, if he touched the walls of the tent the water bled through and dripped down his fingers, and there had to be a rip somewhere because every now and then a heavy drop would fall square on his forehead. He didn't mind the rain, though. It cooled him down.

He thought of Neal and Mozzie and Elizabeth and Collins. What could have happened? Why would Mozzie send him that message? Could it be a trap...? But whose trap? It didn't make sense, but he had to get there, he was sure Collins had already landed in the country, and knowing him it would not take him long to be on his trail.

What if he didn't find Neal? What if he'd gotten restless and begun smuggling, like Nico had implied? It did not fit him, but it was possible. What would he do then? He had promised Ellen he would get him back safe. What if he couldn't keep that promise? What if Collins had somehow managed to get ahead of him? What if... No, he had to stop. He was going to find them both. He had to bring Neal back.

* * *

Nico zipped open his tent shortly after dawn, and Peter opened his eyes right away. He smelled something fried, and he changed quickly and swung his feet out, grabbing his muddy boots.

"Check your boots before you-"

"Jesus!" Peter heard the warning a little too late and he fell back into his tent as a frog he had almost stepped on emerged from the boot, crawling up his pants. It jumped away, but Peter removed the boot and shook it just in case. He did the same with the other.

"You're lucky, it could have been a snake," said Nico. Peter stepped out, hardly recognising the clearing now covered in fog, and he sat down in the chair. Nico turned off his gas stove and scraped eggs off a pan. They ate in silence, and stowed everything back in the truck. In half an hour, after washing some in the nearest stream, they were back on the road and stuck in the mud again.

* * *

When the sun started to come down that day, Peter peered at the mileage count and recorded 24 kilometres travelled. Nico had said forty, so they were more than halfway there, but it did not rain all day long and the sun was fierce, so he hoped the remaining kms of clay road had been sufficiently baked. The last two kilometres of the day were easy and they did them without having to step out of the truck, but even after the light was all gone Nico did not want to stop, he wanted to find a good place to camp.

"But we've seen no one coming," said Peter.

"I can't leave just the car in the middle of the road."

They kept going at a snail's pace, waving flashlights at the side of the road in search of a clearing, but they were surrounded by either sheer rock or steep creek at either side. When Nico stopped the truck Peter thought he'd given up. Then he saw his face, and heard the distant roar.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Car engine."

"I don't see any-"

Suddenly a large dark SUV thundered out of a bend ahead of them, headlights dimmed, and Nico stepped on the accelerator and they sped forwards just in time to veer right against the rocky wall, allowing the SUV just enough space to pass through. It did not even try to break, it passed scratching the paint off Nico's truck, smashing the left rear view mirror, and then it sped into the dark at such a speed they heard its suspension slam as it hit the nearest pothole. In seconds, it was gone, and Nico killed his engine and got out. He stared in horror at his mirror, in pieces on the ground, and at the headlights he'd broken from hitting the rocky wall. When he tried to get it out into the road again, he found both tyres of the right side were stuck in the softer mud at the side of the road, and despite the winch, it would not move. After some struggling, the engine started overheating, smoke billowed out of the hood, and Nico gave up. He stomped off and found a small clear spot ahead of them, where they could pitch their tents away from the road.

It was Peter who set up camp this time, and he felt bad looking back at Nico, who was grieving for his truck. He came back to help with the fire and the food, but he wasn't cheerful anymore, and he moodily complained of drug-runners, assuring Peter that only narcotraffickers drove dark trucks with dark windows like the one that had passed them. Peter was about to retreat into his tent - it would be of no use to worry until the morning, anyway - when he heard a sneeze. He looked at Nico, but he was silent, and seemed not to have noticed. A few minutes passed, and it sounded again, closer, and this time Nico leapt to his feet, pulling a long rifle from under his duffel bag. Peter stepped back at the sight of the weapon.

"Whoa, now," he whispered. "What's that for?"

Nico lifted his eyebrows.

"It's an air gun," he said.

"Oh."

The sneeze came again, followed by hoofs beating on the drying earth. Nico called out, asking who it was. The voice that answered spoke heavily accented Spanish, and Peter recognised it immediately.

"Oh my God. Mozzie. Is that you, Mozzie?" he said, loudly.

"You know him?" Nico hissed, just as the short bald man stepped into the light of the gas lamp, and through his glasses Peter saw his eyes squint.

"Suit? What are you doing here?" he asked, with genuine surprise, but he stopped his next step when he saw the barrel of Nico's rifle. "Mind telling your goon to put that thing down?" Nico lowered the weapon, tossing it back on top of his bag. "Hey, be careful with that."

"It's an air gun," Peter told him. Mozzie stepped closer, dragging two mules behind him and tying them to the nearest tree. He stared at Nico, his arms crossed.

"Who is he?" he asked, holding his head high. He looked different; he had a full beard now, though his hair was still almost non-existent. But it was the worried look on his face that raised flags for Peter. He even had dark bags under his eyes.

"He's my guide, and he speaks English," he answered. Nico vowed with an imaginary hat, no longer nervous - he surely recognised Mozzie from the blurry picture he'd been given.

Mozzie scoffed.

"Since when does a Suit need a guide?" he asked.

"Since you send me cryptic messages with ambiguous locations. I mean, Moo Farm? Seriously? Where is Neal? I need you to tell me everything, Mozzie. Right now."

"Listen," Mozzie raised his palms, coming to seat against their camping table. "I had to. I couldn't be specific, I didn't know if you would get it or some other cog in the machine. I was going to meet you in town, I just didn't think you'd get here so quick. How did you know it was this farm?"

Peter showed him one of the paintings he'd bought. Mozzie raised his eyes to the sky.

"I told him he should stick with the Cusco School, people pay good money for those and they're anonymous. But he liked the highlighter style..."

"Mozzie," Peter interrupted, his voice stern. "I had a strong motivation to be here. There's another agent looking for Neal, and he means business."

"Suit! You didn't let him follow you!"

"Wait, agent?" said Nico. "You said you weren't-."

"I'm _not DEA_," Peter insisted, rolling his eyes, while Mozzie stared. "I'm FBI. But I _am_ looking for a friend, and that's all you need to know." He turned back to Mozzie. "I didn't let him follow me, I tried to throw him off Neal's track as much as I could, but the man's determined. He might still be on my tail, I don't know. I'm not here officially. Now, _where's Neal,_ Mozzie?" Peter asked, growing impatient and increasingly concerned. Mozzie sighed, and looked down to the ground.

"I don't know," he said.

"What do you mean, you don't know? Wasn't he with you? Is he all right?"

"Look, it's a long story."

"We got till dawn. Speak."

* * *

**A/N: It really is a long story, so you'll have to hang on until the next installment. In the meantime, you can leave a review! I love reviews, I really do, doesn't matter if they're one word or one paragraph. Let me know what you think! And thank you for reading! **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I've cut this Neal section in half because it was a little too long, so next chapter will be in Neal's POV too. Some answers, and some more questions here. I hope you'll enjoy this. I know you're all hoping to get right to the reunion but I'm building up to something, so be patient. Thank you all for reading, reviewing, favouriting and the lot, this is for you! **

**WC-WC-WC-WC**

Neal tried to sketch _Starry Night _for Laura. He really did try, but he was so fixed on the light of the forest, of how everything seemed to glow at night, that when he managed to get a hold of a set of oil pastels from Mr. Vogt he painted the view out of June's flat, like he'd done a hundred times before, only this time the buildings seemed to grow out of the ground like trees, the sky was the brilliant blue of the rainforest, and the windows reflected fireflies and leaves, as if they were mirrors to another world. He made sure Mozzie wasn't around early the following Friday when he went to the main house to deliver it, knowing what his reaction would be. He'd hardly seen Laura since the game night; he'd only caught a glimpse of her as she galloped past the house towards the far off grazing fields and the river. He'd always waved, but she had not waved back.

David let him in and pointed upstairs. He found Laura sitting quietly in the deck of the top floor, from where you could look down on the endless green fields, scattered with cows, all the way to the snaking river. She had binoculars pressed against her eyes, looking North-West to the mountains, and when he came in through the mosquito-net door, she gasped in surprise. She dropped the binoculars, and almost knocked her chair when she stood. Neal raised his hands, letting the frame of the painting rest between his legs.

"What were you looking at?" he asked. She frowned.

"What are you doing here?"

"Your nephew let me in, I came to deliver your prize." He grabbed the frame and showed her the painting, studying her face for a reaction. He could tell she was trying to keep it straight, he knew the effort well, but she wasn't as good as he was, and still he caught the slight rise of the edges of her mouth, a smile cut short.

"You're actually good, aren't you," she said. "Who would've known?"

"Why, thank you, I try," said Neal.

She took the painting, thanked him, and opened the door and walked back to her room, which was on the third floor. She didn't invite him in, but Neal followed without a second thought. Her room only had two walls, the other two were just clear screens, with wide wood shutters hanging from the ceiling in case it rained, and Neal could easily imagine the view she must have at night. She left the painting against one of the walls, to hang later, but when she turned and saw he was there she went to the door frame.

"Excuse me, this is my bedroom," she said, clearly uncomfortable, but Neal ignored her and walked to her night stand. There was a picture frame there, but behind it he thought he'd caught a glimpse of something shiny.

"Yes, I know," he answered her.

"What are you doing?"

"What's this?" Neal moved the frame away, revealing a gold figurine of a horse and a rider. He grabbed it, with care, and brought it close to his face. It was heavy, and probably the most beautiful piece of work he'd seen since he stepped into the warehouse with the treasure. The rider was a woman holding on to the mane and standing up on rope stirrups, with a blanket as a saddle. Everything was made in perfect detail, and Neal traced the fine filigree with his fingers, as in a trance. He looked at the figurine's face, and delicate hair, and recognised it as a younger Laura. He was about to turn it over when she snatched it out of his hands, and stored it in a drawer.

"That's fine work. Who made it for you?" Neal asked.

"I'd rather you didn't touch anything."

"I'm sorry," said Neal. "I was just impressed by your horse. Is it all gold?"

"No. It's just a trinket," she answered, but her voice was clipped.

"You know it's not."

She sighed, and held on tight to the door handle again, waiting for him to leave. She looked nervous. She might as well be throwing him out. _Why?_ Neal quickly scanned whatever lay around the room – there was a bag on the floor and her phone was blinking on the bed. _3 New Messages. Rob. _

"I thought there was no signal here. Who's Rob?"

"There's signal in the higher floors, my dad just doesn't have a phone. I'll see you at dinner." Her voice was even more insistent, she really wanted him out. She grabbed the phone, squeezed it in her hands, and when it beeped again she turned it off.

"You're not answering that? Or is it not a welcomed call?" he said. This time she actually stepped outside. Neal pursed his lips. "Am I bothering you? Because I thought that-"

"Listen, _Mr. Armstrong-"_

"Actually, I'm Neal with an 'a'-"

"Look, I've just met you. You play a good game of dice and I'm happy to meet you for a rematch tonight, but I'd be more comfortable if you didn't just walk into my room."

"Oh... So you're kicking me out?" She just smiled, without showing her teeth. The smile did not reach her eyes. "You're kicking me out."

"But we can still play dice tonight."

"That trinket of yours-"

"See you tonight, Mr. Armstrong."

"It's _NEAL."_ But she had already closed the door.

Neal stood outside her room, listening for anything, for several minutes. That horse... Even if he was wrong with the weight and the quality and it was made out of cheap, soft metal, the craftsmanship was still outstanding - he'd never seen filigree work like that, not in such detail, using such fine strands. And of course, he wasn't wrong - he was never wrong. It wasn't cheap soft metal. It wasn't even gold leaf. It was _all gold_. He knew Mr. Vogt made good money with his farm and lived comfortably, but he wasn't rich. That horse had been at least half a kilo heavy and solid, not hollow. Good gold, the kind that made his fingers tingle and his eyes widen. In bullion, it could be worth well over forty thousand dollars. And the work was really superb; he could only imagine what it would cost to have something like that made by a goldsmith. Mr. Vogt had no expensive decorations in his house, all his art was local, so were his clothes and gear. Neal had only seen him spend good money once, when he had a fine Cebú bull with a massive hump brought from Argentina as a stud for his cows. He haggled with every client that came to see his horses. It didn't add up. Laura was hiding something, and he needed to find out what.

* * *

Neal waited, during dinner, for the right moment to bring up the figurine. Casually - or not so casually - he brought up the words 'gold' and 'filigree', and he rambled about art and metalwork and how filigree work and water gilding was terrible on one's fingers. Laura's fingers were smooth and unblemished, and she showed no signs of reacting over how he was trying to steer the conversation. She just managed to steer it back to safer topics, and she did so with such grace it took Neal a moment to realise that she was doing it, that she had caught on and was purposefully avoiding the topic. Which made it all the more interesting.

There was no wager this time. Neal played better than he had the night before, and he reached the one-on-one round with five dice, but he still lost to Laura. He couldn't understand - he'd done everything, he'd called her bluffs, he'd played the round to perfection, and still, she had won.

"Tell me your secret, how do you do it?" he said, stowing the cups back in their leather box. The table was cleared and while everyone else brought their dishes to the kitchen, Neal sat alone with Laura.

She blinked once, very slowly.

"If you tell me yours," she said.

"What makes you think I have a secret?"

"I'm sure you have many. You seem like the kind."

"The kind?"

"The kind of person that has two faces. I see one face right now, but there's that other one, the reason you're here in the first place."

Neal felt his smile break, thought he knew that from the outside it looked just as perfect as before. He'd wanted to talk about _her_ secrets, not his own. It frustrated him that she was a step ahead.

"That trinket you have there in your drawer. Do you have any idea what it's worth?" he asked, opting for a more direct approach, but she just smirked.

"I'm guessing you _do_ know. And if you're planning a theft, it shouldn't even be hard for you. I don't keep it under key." She said it with ease, as she stacked the place mats together. She did not pull her eyes away.

"What makes you think I want to steal it? I was just curious."

She scoffed.

"Please, give me some credit. Have you ever tried googling Neal, Art, and Fugitive? Why on earth did you use your own name? We might be far, but there's still 2G service here. I had your mug-shot popping up all over my search results."

Neal opened his mouth, but for a brief moment he was lost for words. _She knew!_ That changed everything. She had not been accusing him, she'd said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world, but before he could deny it she chuckled, raising the palm of her hand.

"Don't fret. I won't tell. I'm actually relieved." She smiled. Neal smiled too, but it was an anxious, not entirely honest smile. _Mozzie's going to kill me._ He'd warned him about the name, but Neal had been too reckless, too confident, too sure he was far enough, that he would never be found. He should've just used the alias.

"I'm not-I won't steal your horse. I really am curious; I've never seen work like that." He neither denied nor accepted her statement - it was pointless. She stood from the table, and stowed the unused glasses back in the wooden cupboards. Then she turned to him, her hands leaning on the hardwood.

"It was a gift. It has sentimental value to me. Wouldn't make a difference to me if it was pewter or gold, I never asked."

"Who made it? I'd be interested in knowing the -"

"You can't."

"Why-"

"Neal!" Mozzie suddenly walked in the room, and Neal made sure his face was straight when he turned towards him. Mozzie was holding two short brown bottles with no labels. "Best of both worlds, Neal. Coffee liqueur, there's a farm to the North that makes it, you have to try it. It's exquisite."

Neal looked up at Laura, but she was already walking up the stairs, and he sighed and went for the door, while Mozzie bid his thank-yous and farewells to Mr. Vogt.

* * *

"So what were you talking about with the dice prodigy?" said Mozzie, once they were outside and walking the familiar path over the grass. Neal shrugged.

"Oh, she was just thanking me for the painting. She was impressed."

"No doubt. What did you paint her? It wasn't New York, was it? Because we agreed-"

"It wasn't New York." _Two lies in half a minute_. "I sketched her _Starry Night_, like I said. Just in pencil, I didn't want to waste paints."

"Good. I'm liking this place. Mr. Vogt is giving me management of his coffee roasting emporium, I have control of the ovens, but I've been trying to convince the man to buy a good roasting drum. We could try and imitate that marvellous..."

Mozzie went on and on about coffee, and Neal lost his initial resolve to tell him everything. They had it good here. Even Mozzie liked it, despite the farm's many setbacks and infringements to the rules of sanitation and comfort that he'd laid down when they first hopped on that plane out of New York - before they had a definite place in mind. Mozzie liked it, and was not impatient or restless, but he also believed in the temporal nature of their current home down to his very core. If Neal told him now that he'd been made, it would all end. Mozzie would go into self-preservation mode, and he would probably be all set to leave within 12 hours; he had no qualms in leaving things behind - Neal remembered how he'd shredded to pieces the number of that hacker he'd had a thing for. No matter how much Mozzie claimed to like the farm, there was no doubt in Neal's mind that he would run. Neal didn't want to run again - not yet. Not without money or safe IDs. Not if there wasn't really any threat. And definitely not after seeing that gold figurine. He just had to pretend it didn't matter.

"So, what do you think?"

"What?" Neal raised his head, looking puzzled at his friend. Mozzie scoffed.

"Have you listened to a word I've said?"

"I'm sorry, Mozz... I'm just a little tired."

"Distracted would be more like it. And I am aware of the source of the distraction. I'm warning you once again my friend, don't get involved."

"Oh, so you get to be buddy-buddies with the boss, but I can't even - what was that?" Neal suddenly wheeled around, his eyes drawn to a dark corner of the forest opposite the river, where the water canal started.

"First, Vogt is not my boss, and second, that's not going to work with me Neal."

"No, Mozz. There was something there, I saw it." Neal started tramping across the grass to the canal. "I think it was a horse..."

"Seriously? You're going with that? If that's your idea of evading this conversation you are sorely mistaken if you think it's going to work. No _these droids are not the ones you're looking for_ Jedi tricks for me, I see through all of it. What's going on?"

But Neal suddenly stopped, and he pointed to the forest as a beam of light shone for a second between the trees.

"Does that look like a Jedi mind trick to you?" he asked. Mozzie came closer, but his attitude did not change.

"Don't deflect. That's probably just a farm worker looking for a missing cow."

Then, as they both stood looking at the forest, the clear silhouette of a horse and rider came down the hill at a gallop, and then disappeared in the thick vegetation. It was very dark, but still Neal recognised the horse as Mara. It had to be her.

"Where is she going?"

"How do you know it's Laura?" Mozzie asked.

"Oh, it's her. I just know it." Neal turned, and continued on his way back to the house. Mozzie stood for a moment longer before he followed.

"This conversation isn't over, just so you know!" he called.

"Whatever you say, Mozz..."

* * *

Very early the next morning, when the fog was still partially blanketing the view, Neal sat drinking coffee in the veranda, and through the screen he saw Laura riding back to her house on Mara, her hair waving, and a heavy bag bouncing behind her. He didn't go looking for her, but the moment Mozzie returned from the main house from his round of roasting he asked him if he'd seen her.

"Now, why should I tell you?" Mozzie asked. Neal wanted to tell him that his interest also involved shiny yellow metal, but he needed to wait till he had more information. He turned away, and poured more coffee onto his cup.

"Just... never mind." He shrugged, and when Mozzie dropped yesterday's paper on the table - they were always a day behind on news - he began solving the two-page crossword puzzle that Mozzie usually claimed. Twenty minutes in, he was staring at a black and white picture of a young man with a boyish face and clear eyes, stuck on a clue.

"I remember, he's a Frenchman..." he turned the paper towards Mozzie. "Baudelaire? No, Baudelaire doesn't fit..."

"You need a hobby," said Mozzie. "Why don't you join me and Mr. Vogt this afternoon? We're going bean-shopping."

"Seriously? A hobby?" Neal turned his head around him, looking at the art hanging from every spare place in the walls. Then he looked back down at his puzzle. "Look at this guy, Mozzie, you should know him. I think he's a poet."

"I'm not telling you anything about Laura. In fact, she's banned forthwith from all conversation in this house."

"I already said never mind. I really don't get what your problem with her is, though, you hardly even know her."

"Neither do you. And someone who's that good at bluffing must certainly have something to hide."

"We all have something to hide. Okay, so what other Frenchman could it be? Sartre? No, it's six... seven letters..."

"Neal..."

"Rimbaud! That's it, that's the baby-faced poet. R-I-M-B-A-U-D. The A fits with Au - that's the chemical symbol for Gold."

"All right," Mozzie raised his hands as if he'd caved in, even though he hadn't actually met resistance on Neal's part. He sat down in the table. "Laura's gone off to town, she needs to fill in for another teacher till the end of the term."

"But it's almost summer," said Neal, without raising his eyes from the newspaper. He didn't try to hide his smile.

"That's why she'll be back in two weeks, next Saturday. And seriously, you didn't know that was Rimbaud, or were you just messing with me? '_Idle youth, enslaved by love; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life_.'."

"I know the words, not the man's face. And I'm pretty sure there's no mention of love in that quote."

"Call it creative license. Do something useful, will you? I've got a book upstairs, on colonial Cusco School art. They're all anonymous, same style, plenty unaccounted for or believed destroyed, and they're worth quite a lot. We could fence them _easily_, and since you're in the mood for painting..."

"I don't have the right supplies for a forgery, Mozzie."

"It doesn't have to be a good quality one, the fence is not going to run an ultraviolet light on it or anything. Look, I hate to tell you this, but we're running low on cash. Why do you think I'm all up for this coffee enterprise?"

"You love coffee."

"Yes, I do. But you know what I love more? The Mediterranean sea. The Louvre. The Museo del Prado - do you want me to go on?"

"No, please don't."

"All right. Then get to work."

"Okay. I will." Neal smiled. He actually had an entirely different idea concerning possible sources of income.

* * *

One look through the heavy coffee-table book Mozzie had borrowed from Mr. Vogt, and it was obvious to Neal that he wasn't going to be able to make a forgery. It was not that he lacked paint from the right period or that he didn't have a big enough oven for ageing - he could always used the coffee-roasting stove. He didn't even have any primary pigments left. He was resourceful, but not even he could materialise paint out of thin air. He had watercolours and pastels, but no oils. He was down to half an inch of turpentine and though it wasn't hard to get another bottle, he could never find one the same quality. No, he couldn't work like this. And as he leafed through the book, he really thought it was a shame. It would have been nice to try something new, what with the bright reds and browns and the lavishly applied gold leaf... _Gold leaf, _God, he was seeing Gold everywhere... He looked closer at one painting, hanging in a private collection. What shone the brightest was not the painting itself, but the frame. It was large, carved of wood, not plaster, but heavily adorned, matching a baroque period even though the painting was much newer - a common occurrence for colonial works. And it was covered in gold. Water gilded in the most exquisite detail, almost as impressive as Laura's horse.

And then the idea struck.

He had four thick boards of dark wood brought into the second floor deck, where he had enough space to work. He laid them over a sturdy table, and set up the things he'd borrowed from the farm foreman's wood shop. His boards were not freshly cut - that would not have worked for a painting supposedly 400 years old, but they were smooth, hard enough to withstand time but soft enough to carve with regular wood chisels. He was going to make it to fit a 25cm x 40cm canvas, which he reckoned would not be too hard to get if he decided to actually sell the thing. As of yet, his plans for it were different.

By Friday night, a day before Laura was supposed to return, he had finished carving the four pieces to _horror vacui _perfection, and put together they formed the perfect frame for a nice colonial painting of red, brown and gold hues. After he had sandpapered it and polished it to satisfaction, he brought it down to the veranda and showed it to Mozzie.

"I don't know about you, but I think there's something missing in that picture," said Mozzie. Neal smiled.

"We'll worry about the painting later. This is almost done, only needs gilding, and we can sell it much more easily."

"And for much less profit."

"That depends on the gilding." He left the frame on the table, and then turned as he heard the distant neighing of a horse. Soon, Laura emerged from the far edge of the forest, and she rode along the tree line, heading for the hillock and the main house. The moon was big and she was perfectly visible. "She must be early," he muttered. Mozzie rolled his eyes.

"Neal, this is getting ridiculous."

"What? I was just commenting on..."

"Nope, no commenting for you. You have work to finish."

"I'm taking a break. Wood dust hurts my eyes, and I wanted to ask you a few things. You did your research before we came here, didn't you?"

"You know I did."

Neal took a deep breath before asking his question. "I need to know a few things regarding gold."

"Gold? It's a precious metal, ductile, malleable, used as a standard-"

"I meant gold _here._"

"Gold here?"

"Is it mined close? Is it mined at all? Good quality, bad quality, big mine, small mine, open pit or dark creepy tunnels, seriously, you know what I mean, Mozz."

"Gold is one thing, gold leaf is another. It might be hard to find around here. Is gilding even on your list of perfected crafts? I don't remember ever seeing you do that before."

"Just because you have never _seen_ me do it before, doesn't mean I can't do it. It's a pretty straightforward procedure, actually. The only tricky thing about it would be getting the gold. And it has to be thick, not that wrinkly no-good stuff they put in a fancy whiskey."

"They put gold leaf on drinks?"

"On food too."

"That goes against a precious metal's dignity...!" Mozzie shook his head. Neal wondered again if he should tell him about the figurine - but no. He had to talk to Laura first. He'd use the frame to ask her about the gold.

"I'll ask Vogt about it in the morning, maybe he knows if there's a way to get it," said Neal.

"I'll ask him if you want. Though I doubt he'd know anything. He doesn't care a lot about anything not cow related. Besides dice, that is."

"No, it's all right. I'll go talk to him."

"Really? Cause it's no trouble for me, I see him every morning..."

"I'll go, Mozz," said Neal, this time his voice was firmer. He knew what his friend was trying to do, and it was starting to get on his nerves. "I know what I'm doing."

"You know what you need, Neal? You need to stop. You barely know her, and it's embarrassing. Obviously you're bored. You need a job."

"Mozzie, it's not even about her..." Neal said, tilting his head back.

"Oh? Then what is it about?"

"It's-"

"Mozzie?" Someone knocked on the door frame, and they both turned. David let himself in, holding up a lantern. In his other hand he carried a large plastic padded envelope. "Mozzie, it's mail for you. Laura brought it in, and you told me to let you know in case anything arrived, so..."

Mozzie took the envelope, checking the seal immediately, but he did not appear very relieved when he saw it was unbroken.

"Okay kid. Thanks." Mozzie produced a bar of chocolate, seemingly out of thin air, which the boy grabbed with a smile, and then he turned and ran past the door into the field. After he'd walked two steps away, all they could see of him was the hand that held his lamp, and that appeared to be floating next to it along the grass. Once he was gone, Mozzie tore the seal, and emptied the envelope's contents. There were six unopened paper envelopes inside the padded one, and he went through them quickly.

"They don't look manipulated... Though she could have ironed the glue out and that wouldn't be visible..."

"The stamps would have fallen off - why would Laura go through your mail?" Neal asked, as Mozzie brought one close to his nose and smelled it.

"I don't trust her, Neal. She's sneaky, she's hiding something, I just know it..." he seemed to catch the way Neal was staring at the letters, and he answered the unuttered question. "They're courier, not Post Office. And I've rerouted these through more PO boxes than you can count, trust me, we're untraceable."

"What are they?"

"Status updates on the items we're fencing... Possible good news!" He ripped the opening of the first letter, and read. Neal could actually see his eyebrows dropping as he moved down the page.

"What? What is it?"

"This is from Big Tom's wife, you remember Big Tom, the fence? I gave him four of the Egyptian pieces."

"He stole them and ran?" Neal guessed. Mozzie shook his head.

"More like he got caught and got sent to jail. 5 years. Possession of stolen property, and he resisted arrest."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Mozzie then quickly moved through the rest of the letters, shredding them to unrecognisable pieces once he finished reading. Not one spelled good news. They had not sold a thing. Neal had to look down and away in order to hide his relief. It meant they had more time. It meant they weren't running.

"We tried to do this too quick," Mozzie lamented. "You never get a good price when you're in a hurry."

"Well... We don't have a lot of expenses right now, we could just cut on the wine. I can make work than can be sold and you can keep at that coffee business of yours."

"It's not enough. Remember the fuel, fuel is expensive, so unless you want to live in the dark... We can either do something bolder, or start taking regular jobs. Both alternatives have their risks."

"What regular job could I possibly take?" Neal asked. "There's nothing to do here."

"Actually, there is. Mr. Vogt is hiring. He wants to build a guest house, a really nice one, kind of like a boutique hotel out near the forest. I might have mentioned over drinks that you were an architect..."

"Mozz!"

"What? It's a wooden house, how hard can it be? And he can pay well. Not enough to help our retiring fund, but enough to live by while we plan something."

"All right then. I'll still go tomorrow and talk to Vogt. I want to sell this frame."

"Okay, just _don't lose sight of the goal here_." Mozzie repeated. It was starting to sound like his mantra.

**A/N: To be continued soon! Any questions, comments, ideas, cries of despair, let me know! Hearing from you readers is the best part of my day. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm back with the second part of Neal's chapter. To all of you reading, reviewing and that, again I THANK YOU. I didn't want to post this too quick since there are a few things I need to fix some chapters ahead, but I'll let you have this one now and I hope you'll like it. I'll be back with Peter's part on either Saturday or Sunday. **

**WC-WC-WC**

Neal left early the next morning with the finished frame wrapped in canvas and tucked under his arm (although it was too bulky not to be noticeable). Whatever Laura was involved in, and he already had a pretty good idea, she was going to tell him now, no more deflecting. He already knew it had something to do with the golden horse in her drawer. _Gold._ When he said the word, it sounded good. His interest in it did not stem from his shortage of funds, there were, after all, easier ways to get money. There was just something about the idea of uncovering a secret operation that made him feel alive again. It was like solving a case with Peter, except now he could join in if he wanted. It had been a while since he'd last felt the rush of pulling a job, and now that he was close he realised how much he'd actually missed it. _So much for change..._

He walked towards the hillock, but before he'd reached the crest he turned to the water canal and the forest, and even from afar he could see the red marks where horse hoofs had dug into the grass. He thought of following them, and he veered closer and closer to the trees. The mud was wet, and there was more than one set of prints. When he reached the top and he had a view of the valley where the main house was, he caught a glimpse of Laura entering the stable on her black horse. But by the time he reached the doorway he was sure she was already in her room, and he'd seen Hugo far off in the grazing fields so there was no need to worry about him overhearing. He met Mr. Vogt in the hallway, and he walked with him until he was standing directly below Laura's room before he started talking.

"Mr. Vogt, I wanted to ask you something," he said. The old man nodded, adjusting the brim of his hat. He was just about to make his round of the farm, as he did every Saturday.

"Go ahead," he said.

"Mozzie mentioned you had plans to make a guest house..."

"Ah, yes! He said you could help me. We're still in the flattening of the land phase; I was hoping you could give us a hand with the blue prints."

"I'd be glad to, sir," he said.

"Great. I'll take you to the site this afternoon."

"All right. And sir, I also wanted to ask..."

"Yes?"

"Well, I've heard there is good gold production in this country. I was looking into buying bullion, as an investment. I hoped maybe you could guide me in the right direction."

Vogt chuckled, though there was a puzzled look on his face. What would a cattle farmer like him know about investment in bullion anyway? It was an absurd question. But Neal didn't care much about the answer. He'd just made sure to raise his voice when he said 'gold' and 'bullion', so that Laura would hear him.

"Well, there is gold..." said Vogt, "but they mine it much further east. And I don't think it would prove a good investment for you, gold is flashy, too noticeable. If you're looking to invest in something you can carry, I'd recommend you buy stamps... or old coins." Vogt wagged his eyebrows. He probably thought Neal had a suitcase of cash and was looking for a way to make it smaller. He wondered, not for the first time, why did the old man trusted them when obviously he knew they were not on the right side of the law.

"Thank you for the information," he said.

"You're welcome."

The old man headed for the door and Neal turned to leave in an opposite direction. However, before he could reach the double doors of the veranda he found himself facing Laura.

"Why are you asking about gold?" she asked. He smiled.

"Ah, just the person I was looking for," said Neal, stepping closer towards her. "You know, I've been playing dice with your dad while you were gone, and I've gotten much better. We should have a game tonight. How was town, by the way?"

She looked at him like he'd just asked her something inappropriate, as if he lacked the trust to talk to her so freely.

"It was fine," she said, looking away. She was shifty, her eyes darting from Neal to the corners of the room. "Why are you asking about gold?"

"Can't we have a nice conversation? We're friends, aren't we?"

"I barely know you."

"That's not true. You have Internet, I'm sure that by know you know everything about me."

"That doesn't make us friends."

"We've been neighbours for over a month. Why the sudden hostility? Something went wrong during your little horseback escapade into the woods last night?" Her eyes widened. "Oh, of course, you didn't see me. I didn't have the lights on. Where do you go so late? There are no other farms in that direction."

She took a deep breath, and her gaze fell down on the package under his arm. She then tilted her head up.

"We shouldn't talk here," she said. She started walking back up the stairs towards her room, and Neal followed her, allowing himself to smile. She closed the door behind him, and Neal immediately uncovered the frame and he laid it on the bed.

She sat down in front of him, on a divan that had its back on the screened wall. Neal was on the edge of the bed. They stared at each other for more than a minute before any dared to talk. Neal hoped she would be the one to start, but as slow seconds wore on he realised she was waiting for him to speak.

"Look, I won't tell anyone your secret if you don't tell mine," he said. She crossed her arms. Like he'd expected, she didn't question what he knew - which wasn't much.

"Is this about getting even? I already told you I wouldn't tell anyone, you don't need to blackmail me."

"I'm not trying to blackmail you. Trust me, your secret's safe with me. I just thought you could help me with something. You know, as friends." She rolled her eyes, and appeared to settle down on her seat, the tension gone from her shoulders. Neal flashed a smile, and went on, resting a hand on the wood of his frame. "So, I need to water-gild this frame. I need gold leaf. And I was hoping maybe I could get in touch with the person who made that horse, get some advice..."

"You made that frame?"

"It's good isn't it?"

She smiled. "Where's the painting?"

"I'm not attaching it till the frame's done. Sometimes the frame is much harder to imitate than the painting, and this one is going to be a pain, water gilding is terrible on the fingers..."

"So you want me to help you commit a crime."

"Who said anything about crime?"

"Forgery is a crime."

"Ah, but this is going to be a _reproduction_. Nothing criminal about that."

"Still..." She seemed hesitant.

"Come on, are you honestly concerned about the legality of this? You have an eight inch high horse of solid gold in your drawer, and I'm willing to bet that gold was not mined with a permit. Illegal mining, that's four to eight years in prison. I may not know you very well, Laura, but I do know how these businesses usually go. You either know where they're mining it, or you know someone who does. And whoever made that horse is involved. More than likely, you're involved too."

Laura stood, seeming to consider kicking him out the door, but after a few seconds she sat down again. She must have known it was useless to deny anything. Her reaction alone told Neal what he needed to know. She was involved. And she was not ashamed of it, though there was something else that she wasn't telling.

"I'm not involved… Not in the extraction. Sometimes..." Her voice was low and graver than usual, and it faded to nothing for a second. Then she started again. _So there was shame, after all_. "About once every two months I have to go the city. Get school supplies. I take my dad's Land Cruiser. Sometimes... Not often. Just - sometimes I drop off a few grams of gold, never more than 500, with the owner of a jewellery shop. He pays me for it in cash. When I come back here, I leave the money by the sluice gate where the canal meets the forest. Within an hour, it's gone."

"Why do you do it? What's in it for you?" Neal asked her. She looked uncomfortable with the question.

"I get a cut. I work hard, Neal. My school is falling to pieces. I need money, why else?"

"You could earn well if you lived in the city."

"I don't want to live in the city."

"Why not?"

"My family's here."

"But not just your family, right? Someone else. Someone you do favours for. Someone you know and care for, he gives you the gold to sell - that's why you do it. He's the one who gave you that horse, the man I want to meet."

Now she turned away. She covered her eyes with her hands just for a moment, then she let them rest on her lap again.

"No, you're wrong about that," she said, no louder than a whisper. Neal had to lean in to hear. "The man who made that horse for me - he's dead."

She let out a shaky breath. Neal stared into her eyes and noticed they were foggy, if only for a moment. Then she blinked, and the grief was gone. She straightened her face and smiled. Neal didn't smile back - suddenly their talk was much too serious. He used the silence to reconsider his plans. If Mozzie had been in on them, he would've folded back. It was too suspicious. A dead man? That was a warning. But Laura looked sad, not scared, and if she'd told him anything it was because she thought no harm could come of it. After all, he only wanted to buy a little to gild his frame - or so she thought. It was not like he was telling her he wanted in on the business, even if in his mind he was seriously considering it. That would mean talking to Mozzie first.

"What happened to him?" he asked her. She did not lose her smile, but there was sadness still. She shook her head.

"Working with gold, so deep in the jungle, it does something to you. He wasted away, I... I don't really know."

"He was very talented."

"Yes. Yes, he was..."

"Rob is the miner, then. He's the one you meet out in the forest."

Laura nodded. She took a steadying breath, then she raised her eyes again. The light was on her face and they looked golden. She chuckled. "You must think you're so smart... Making me talk like this. You know, I've never told any of this to anyone. My brothers, they don't know a thing. But you... You must understand. I didn't, not until he made the horse. Then I was bewitched. Gold... Gold is something special."

Neal smiled. "It is, isn't it?"

After that, Neal knew it was only a matter of time before she asked him to join in, and when she did, he would say yes. Six years ago he might have let it go out of lack of information, but now he was not in a position to be picky. There was still so much he didn't know, but the only way to find out was to go in head first.

* * *

"Mozz, I think I've found a way to solve our funding problem," Neal announced, stepping up the veranda. Mozzie had ten tiny white cups set up in a straight row in the table, each half filled with dark brown and still steaming coffee. He did not look up when Neal sat beside him.

"I don't want to hear it," he said. "I'm coffee-tasting."

"You don't even know what I'll say."

"If it has anything to do with Laura, I don't want to hear it."

"It's about gold, Mozz."

"For your frame?"

"Well, for starters. There's gold here, right in this river. Good gold, I've seen it. You want to know why I was asking about Laura? She has an eight inch high solid gold filigree figurine sitting on her night stand."

Mozzie promptly closed his mouth, then he adjusted his glasses. He stepped towards the netting.

"Oh," he said. "Well, that's something."

"Yeah. The And that's not all, the figuring is a horse and a rider. The horse is Mara and the rider is her, someone made it for her. "

"Mr. Vogt would never..."

"I know."

"And she's a school teacher..."

"I _know_."

"Wait... you've been mentioning gold since before you made the frame. You've been hiding this from me. For how long?"

Neal looked away. "A while - Look, I just wanted to confirm it. Laura's involved with the miners, she's the one who gets the gold to the city where it is sold. It's a million dollar business, Mozz."

"Yeah, and illegal. Any mineral below ground belongs to the government here, and it's illegal to extract them without being granted a permit and a government concession - even if it's on your land. Authorities take it very seriously. I _knew_ that girl was up to something..."

"I didn't know you had qualms with stealing from the state," said Neal. Mozzie seemed to consider this for a moment, then he shook his head.

"So what do you propose? That we join her operation? Do you know the people she's involved with? I don't understand, Neal. I thought you had no interest in leaving yet, why do you want to risk our position to do this?"

"I don't want to leave, but what's life without a little risk? You should know, Mozz. Tell me you wouldn't have jumped to this chance if we hadn't been laying low."

"No. I would've jumped to the chance if I had been the one to see the reef of gold in the ground. This joining in with strangers doesn't sit well with me. We don't know them; we don't know how they work."

"This is not immediate. Laura hasn't asked me to join, she says she's only the middle-person and I've only come to her as a buyer. I need gold for the frame. I'm going to make sure it's all clear before we get involved, you know me, Mozz, I'm careful. If I'm right, Laura knows something about gilding too and I might be able to convince her to help me. She'll ask me eventually, she'll know I can be useful."

"How will she know that?"

Neal sighed. There was no way around it, he had to say it. "Because she knows who I am."

"_What?"_

"She did her research, and I did use my name..."

"Despite all my warnings... And you even told her you were an artist, my God, Neal!" Mozzie drunk in quick succession three of his coffee cups, and then he started pacing.

"We've got nothing to worry about!" Neal tried to soothe him. "She won't say anything. She won't. She obviously already knew we weren't upstanding citizens, same as Mr. Vogt, and she's got secrets too. She's got nothing to gain by exposing us."

"You better be right."

"I am. So, what do you say? You're with me?"

"Do I have a choice?" Mozzie sat down, and crossed his arms even tighter across his chest.

"Just admit it, you're interested too."

"I might be... just a little bit intrigued, but-"

"You're interested. Wait until you see the golden horse, you won't believe it, she's a beauty."

"As long as this isn't some scheme of yours to get me to condone you stalking Laura..."

"You seriously believe I'm capable of that?"

"You did team up with the Suit, so I don't put anything beyond you."

* * *

Neal hardly thought of New York the weeks that followed. Every morning he painted, selling his canvases in town for a pittance, and when no one would buy them he would give them away. He signed all of them, but never in visible places, and he expected them to be sold for cheap to passing travellers or to be taken to larger cities with markets. He did not imagine there was much chance his work would ever leave the country, so he wasn't worried.

Every afternoon, he was out in the far eastern corner of the land, where the trees grew tallest and the mountains were the closest. Mr. Vogt had long been planning on building a guest-house. He didn't want this building to be Tyrolese like his own house, but he didn't want something too modern either. He had no other request than a high gabled ceiling with an opening, and a screened veranda like the one Neal had adapted for the River House. Neal had immediately gotten in touch with the builder, and was enjoying sketching the layouts and supervising the initial construction. They were using wood and going slow, work stopping every rainy day, but Neal wasn't bothered. He reckoned he had to be gone by the time it was ready and started functioning as an inn, so he had no rush to finish it.

Mozzie was never idle. He took his coffee enterprise seriously, and soon he was selling fine selected home-roasted coffee in the neighbouring towns - not personally, of course, he had recruits to do that for him. The living room, which was where he did his tasting, always smelled of coffee.

Every Friday night, Laura sat down to play dice with all of them. She did not bring up the gold again and neither did Neal, but still some nights he saw her riding out to the fringes of the farm, most likely to meet the mysterious Rob. Neal thought of following her, but he wasn't as stealthy in the tall grass, and he had a feeling she would be able to tell. He wondered what she did all day long, besides being out with the horses. Sure, she was in a school break, but she was a grown woman, there had to be something more to her. _Gold_. With each passing day, he grew more certain that she had not told him the whole story.

For quite a while, Neal planned every conversation he had with her to get new information, and he learned a lot about her that way. She never mentioned Rob, and as for the other guy, the dead goldsmith, Neal did not even know his name. Laura didn't care much for art, but her knowledge of biology and chemistry far exceeded what he might've expected of a schoolteacher, and it made him wonder if she was not involved in something more technical with the gold miners. She certainly knew enough to make herself useful to informal smelters and prospectors.

Laura was not a fool, and she noticed what he was doing, but whenever he started with his questions, she countered by telling a story. She was particularly fond of folklore, and Neal had to admit that she was good at spinning tales, even if he found it endlessly frustrating. Even Mozzie, who otherwise avoided Laura at every opportunity, sat down and listened when she was telling a story. By the time she was done, Neal never could remember what question he'd asked, and he would start his own story. It didn't matter if Mozzie didn't approve or if he frequently attempted sabotage, it didn't matter if she knew about what he'd done in the past. Not after the stories, not anymore. It didn't matter at all.

When two quiet months had passed since their self-imposed exile, Mozzie decided to open up their last remaining bottles of wine (since they had become austere) and call for a celebration. Time had passed slowly but it was because nothing was ever rushed, and not because of boredom. There was no restlessness, yet. Neal painted less and went out more. He got to know the plains and the river and the wide extension of the farm. He began to tell apart the calls and coos he heard coming from the trees and the tall grass, and things he had never thought would interest him, he now found fascinating. He compared the beauty of nature to art, and it inspired him. He wondered, more and more, what his life would have been like if he had appreciated this simple beauty earlier, instead of searching for pretty shiny things. There was a challenge here, too, only that, after knowing the thrill of a high-end job, it no longer felt like much. There were no stakes, no fear of imprisonment or injury or death as a motivation. There was no comparison, knowing both worlds.

Which was why, despite his growing appreciation towards Laura, his heart still drummed faster when he thought of the golden horse.

* * *

"Neal, there is a seating plan. Your seat is here," said Mozzie, pointing at a chair. They were a party of eleven, and they had had to drag the dining room table out to the veranda because Mozzie had insisted they did everything outside.

Neal grabbed his nameplate from his seat, and switched it around.

"All right, now my seat's here," he said, and sat down. Mozzie switched the plates again.

"What's the purpose of a seating plan if everyone's just going to sit wherever they want?"

"I don't know, Mozz, what _is_ the purpose of this seating plan? There's only eleven of us."

"You're supposed to be between David and that friend of his. If we put them together, they'll be too loud."

"So you go between David and his friend, why do I have to sit in the kiddie side of the table?"

"Oh, I don't know, why might that be? And my seat is next to Mr. Vogt."

"Then put Hugo between them. He'll keep them in line."

"Hugo goes to my left. So he calls next to me if we play dice."

"We're not going to play dice."

"How do you know?"

"I might've misplaced the box sets."

Mozzie rolled his eyes. "Someone's a bad loser..."

"I'm tired of that game, we can play something else."

"Well, I still want Hugo to my left."

"Come on, Mozz! I know what this is about."

"You don't want to be between the kiddies. All right. Then you go to Mr. Vogt's other side, and we'll put Laura next to David."

"Mozzie."

"What?"

"Do you really think this is going to work?" Neal leaned forwards, raising his eyebrows. Mozzie pretended he didn't know what Neal meant, then after a few seconds he sighed in defeat.

"She's devious."

"Seriously? Devious?"

"Yes. Devious. That's the word I just used." Mozzie crossed his arms, then uncrossed them and raised a finger. "And she cheats."

"What?"

"Yeah. That's right. She's a cheat."

"That's impossible. I've seen her every move when she plays, and there's no way she could have..."

"She doesn't move her fingers, she uses the cup. When she lifts it up, and when she puts it down, she changes the dice. I'll admit it, she's good, but cheating in a no-stakes bluffing game? That's low. Besides, you said she was always texting with this guy Rob."

"So what? She's a friend, like Vogt's your friend. It's not like there's much of a choice of people to talk to around here..."

Mozzie raised his eyebrows. "That's why I've invited the foreman, and this government veterinarian who's doing rounds of the local farms. You can sit next to her."

* * *

The foreman came with his wife and his two sons, and the vet showed up late on horseback, still in work clothes. They ate salted pork, which was quite good though Neal had the slight suspicion that it wasn't actually pork, and they drank a lot of wine, and brandy, and fruit juice for the under-aged. The weather was cool and it did not rain, the sky was clearer than it had been in weeks, and all the stars were out.

"So how about a game of dice?" said Old Vogt.

"Please, no," said Neal, smiling. He'd played over and over, and he had not won once.

"You don't want another rematch?" Laura teased, sitting beside him despite Mozzie's attempted boycott.

"I prefer poker."

"Well, we don't have chips, and I don't fancy losing money," said Old Vogt, and he sent David off to get the box set, but after a while, when he couldn't find it, they just settled for idle talking.

The vet left early, then the foreman and his family and David's friend. When Old Vogt stood to go, hours later, Neal offered to go with them, since they hadn't brought any lights with them and they shouldn't be walking in the dark, after all it was past midnight, wasn't it? When he walked down the steps of the veranda, he heard Mozzie's hushed voice telling him not to do anything stupid, and for the first few minutes he stayed with the group, but once he was sure he was out of sight he hung back, until he was walking right next to Laura. He had been planning on polite conversation; he couldn't make small talk about the weather because, seriously, there was no need, but perhaps he could ask her about her job, or her city, then carefully steer that conversation towards art and then maybe he could even bring up gold leaf filigree techniques and perhaps even ask her when she would have the gold, but when he opened his mouth and turned to her she surprised him by planting a quick kiss on his cheek, _almost_ touching his lips - then she turned away, blushing.

"Let's not talk about business," she whispered, running up ahead on lithe feet. Neal stood frozen for a second, frowning. Then he shook his head, sighed, and walked on. David came up behind him, following the light he carried.

"She cheats, you know."

"What?" Neal turned. David just shrugged.

"Laura, she cheats. She's always cheated. Not just in dice, she cheats in cards, and in domino. She even steals paper money in Monopoly."

Neal shook his head.

"No. I was watching her, last time... There's no way she could've-"

"She cheats. She's good at it. She's a better cheat than she is a liar."

Neal stared at the boy for a moment, then he raised his eyes towards Laura, who had her back to him, walking next to her brother. She had her hair loose and even in the dim light it gleamed.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked David, who just rolled his eyes.

"Just thought you should know."

Neal kept staring at Laura, considering the last part of David's statement. _Better a cheat than a liar. _He tried to remember times he'd thought she'd been lying, and he was thinking about coming up next to her again, but then a wailing scream shook him to his core, and he ran forwards. He stopped behind David at the top of the hillock, where the rest stood still. The lights of the main house and the stables, together with the moonlight, lit up the fields beyond. And Neal gaped in horror. The sluice gate at the end of the canal, at the edge of the forest, was crooked. There, half in half out of the water as if it had been caught on the gate, was a human body. And the fields in front, from the bottom of the hill to the forest, were littered with cattle lying on their sides. Neal counted at least twenty-five cows, all of them dead.

* * *

**A/N: Did I leave you hanging there? I'm sorry! I'll be back though, with Peter in the next chapter. And some answers, too. The POVs of Neal and Peter are getting closer and closer... In the meantime, you can leave me a review! I love them, you know? I hope everything was clear and you enjoyed this chapter. Until next time! **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: It's a bit late, but it's still Sunday, and Peter's back. Thank you for all for your reading and reviewing. I hope you like this chapter, I promise the next one will answer a lot of questions, and the timeline will even out. Read on, now! **

* * *

Dawn was near and silence ensued. Peter stared at Neal's small accomplice, expectantly, but the story did not continue. He waited for a moment longer, wondering if something really bad was to come, but when seconds turned to minutes and the cicadas resumed their buzzing calls, it became unbearable. He leaned back on the camping chair, his fingers fiddling with a worn out strap hanging from the arm rests, and he grunted. Mozzie was still silent.

"So?" he said at last.

"So what?" said Mozzie.

"So, you found the cows were all dead. That's it? What happened next?"

"I don't believe this," Mozzie shook his head, getting worked up. "That's so insensitive. Those cows had distinct personalities! They had _names!_ Dolly..." he listed. "And Bessy. Leika. Sarah. Gladys-"

"Mozzie, please carry on."

"Yes, what about the body?" Nico asked.

"What body?"

"The _human_ body!" said Peter.

"All right, just don't get ahead of yourselves; we have to do this bit by bit. You know how you eat an elephant? Bit by bit."

"For God's sake, Mozzie…"

"The body was a stranger. He wasn't local and no one claimed him. What was interesting was his cause of death. It was ruled accidental – he drowned, but what no one said was that he didn't drown in water. He had mercury in his lungs. And the cows, they all died of mercury poisoning."

"Mercury poisoning?"

"That's right, Suit. Add that to all the previous clues, and you get-"

"Someone's prospecting for gold," said Nico. Mozzie nodded, tilting his head to the side at the same time.

"Goon's got brains too."

"I'm the guide."

"Whatever. The thing is, I only found out about this later on. Laura didn't know who the dead guy was and she swore her friends didn't use mercury, so we came to the conclusion that he belonged to a separate mining operation. I told Neal this was a clear sign we needed to bail, that he needed to abandon his crazy gold-gilding scheme, that it was too dangerous and too fishy and that we could do without the cash, but... Let's just say he didn't see it that way."

"What do you mean? And what does mercury have to do with a gold mine?" Peter asked.

"Mercury is used to process gold. It's highly poisonous and it makes people crazy," said Nico. Peter nodded, and turned back to Mozzie.

"Listen, it'll be day soon. You either cut to the chase or I'll have you charged-"

"With obstruction of justice? You forget you have no jurisdiction here, Suit," said Mozzie, and he sat back, crossing his arms. "You wanted to hear this story, so you'll hear it whole now, or not at all."

Peter stared at Mozzie, frowning, but at last he rolled his eyes and sighed. He was beyond impatient now, but he knew that if he pushed, Mozzie would just make the story longer, and possibly include even more sleep-inducing details about his dice games with the farm owner. Mozzie fiddled with the neck of his shirt for a moment, but then, feeling the eyes of Peter upon him, he carried on.

"You've got to understand, Suit, we were _bored_. And isolated. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against this rhythm of life, but people like us, we're not used to it. As wonderful as the farm was, that golden horse and the dead cows mystery was the most exciting thing that had happened in two months. In Neal's defence, I'm quite sure that if we'd gone to the islands _as I suggested, _he would have never lost his head over a girl like-"

"Like he did with Kate?"

"You said it, not me. I was just going to say her name," said Mozzie, lifting his hands.

"So Neal fell for this Laura?" Peter asked. Mozzie looked sideways.

"I wouldn't say he _fell_ for her. More like he was lured. You know, like those ultraviolet lights, that draw in mosquitoes, and then when they come close they ZZZAP!, electrocute them? Oh God, I've spent way too much time in this place... Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Gold. I blame the gold, the gold was the ultraviolet light for Neal, not the girl. It wasn't... It wasn't really because we needed the money. I believe he actually had nobler intentions, but it all ended with the mine. I warned him about it, repeatedly. When he left the night after the body washed up, he told me to trust him. Then I never saw him or Laura again."

* * *

It was light, and the birds were in a flurry of activity by the time Mozzie finished with his story, but despite the beauty around him, Peter felt far from at ease. There was a gold mine, but no one knew where it was, and Mozzie couldn't say much about Neal's disappearance either. He was gone, just like that, already a week ago. Laura was also missing. A week... Peter forced his mind from making up scenarios, and he focused on the plan at hand. Nico's truck was irretrievably stuck, but thanks to Mozzie's mules (which left one of them walking since both Mozzie and Peter refused to share), they managed to load up Nico's supplies and they made good time despite the mud. Two large red-barked trees with a sign marked the entrance to Vogt's land, but it was still several minutes before they saw the main house. For a short while, Peter felt as though he'd stepped into a dream.

"So Neal picked this place?" Peter said, and he heard Mozzie scoff at his tone.

"Don't be so impressed, much good it did us..."

"I would've never found him here."

"That was sort of the point. That's Neal's inn right there..." Mozzie pointed to a half-finished building far off to the left, by the edge of the primary forest. It had beams for three stories but walls for only one. Even as bare as it was, Peter could appreciate the simple yet effective style, and how the materials helped it blend into the landscape.

"It would've made a great inn," he muttered, shaking his head. Obviously now it would never get finished. Neal was coming back with him, willingly or in handcuffs, and this dream of a life he and Mozzie had made for themselves would be over. They had all known it could never last.

Mozzie had already told Mr. Vogt about Peter. He had neglected to mention that he was FBI, or that Neal was a fugitive, but there was no need, Peter had a feeling the old man knew all that and more. And with his own daughter missing, he was more than willing to let him help, so he let them in his home and set up the table for lunch. They ate fish with fried yuca and Peter downed cup after cup of steaming coffee, asking the family all they knew, and then when the time seemed right he asked for Laura. They all stared at each other. They had assumed she was in town, then when Neal didn't show up for 24 hours, and when they couldn't find them in the settlement, they started to worry. _Neal, if you've ran off with her, I'll kill you_. After seeing a picture of her while going through the stuff in her room, Peter was not surprised Neal had liked her, but there was still something dark in her eyes that made him anxious. He found no golden horse. Mozzie had never seen it either, and Peter wondered if it was even real. At the end of the day, he was no closer to finding out where Neal was, but the fact that the girl was also missing made it all that more suspicious.

Up in the third floor terrace, he was told, it was possible to get a signal sometimes, and from there he called home. Elizabeth picked up. There was no news of Collins, and he had little to tell her, either, other than his meeting up with Mozzie. He didn't want to worry her with his own concerns. He described the farm, and the deck where he stood, looking down into a green field of waist-high grass. Far West across the glaciers lay the Pacific Ocean, far East the Amazon Rainforest, and to the North, nothing but mountains after mountains of dense cloud forest.

"I wish you were here, hon," he said. "And I wish I was seeing this under different circumstances."

"You'll find him, Peter. I know you will. Think like you used to, that's how you found him last time."

"Last time I followed the girl..." he said, and sighed. Laura. Where was Laura? Gone, as far as he knew, but at least he was surrounded by people who knew her and who could give him information. "I don't get this girl…"

"I think I can hear the wheels turning in your brain all the way from here," said Elizabeth, with a chuckle. Peter smiled.

"I love you, hon. I'll be home soon."

He called Diana next. Collins had been to his office and had gotten a warrant for his phone. He'd traced it to the region Peter was in, but Peter rested easy knowing the roads were blocked. And Collins did not know Neal like he did, so he trusted he would not find Vogt's farm. He told Jones to research alluvial gold deposits near his location, and to send him a message if he got anything.

Peter spent the rest of the day going through Neal's stuff, through every piece of art in the house, but he found no clues or leads to follow. The wooden frame Mozzie had told him about was nowhere to be found, but there was a notebook containing sketches of the golden horse, together with detailed gilding techniques and diagrams that were not in Neal's handwriting. He skimmed through those, and as he was putting the notebook down an envelope fell from inside it. Inside, there was a cardboard greeting card, painted in watercolours. It was a painting of a large tree, with red bark, massive buttress roots, overhanging lianas, and big, cup-shaped white flowers. It filled most of the card, but still behind it he could see a wide field, and a figure walking by at an easy pace, wearing a broad-brimmed hat. When he opened it, he wasn't surprised to see his name written on it in Neal's flowing handwriting.

_Dear Peter,_

_We're 2-1 now. Bet you don't think I'm that bad at running now, do you? Tear down that map you've got in your living room, because I won this time, and the pile of boring fraud cases in your desk must be getting a little too big. Say hi to Elizabeth from me. _

Peter smiled, folded the card and placed it in his inside pocket. It had not been written very recently, and he wondered if he would've ever received it. Maybe it would've never been posted… In any case, he was glad to have read it now. He left Neal's room, closed the door behind him, and joined Mozzie in the hammock of the veranda. As restless as he felt, there was nothing for him to do till the morning. He'd been given the guest room, while Nico slept in the long divan of the living room. Peter had no further need of a guide, but Nico was as stuck there with him as his truck was on the mud, he'd had no luck in arranging for a tow, and though Vogt had offered to borrow him his own truck to try and pull it out they still had to wait till the rains abated in order to brave that road again. Which clearly wasn't happening in the near future, as water fell like a sheet all through the following morning and on and off well into the afternoon. But Nico did not complain, quite on the contrary he seemed excited by the mystery, and Peter appreciated the extra hand and the local know-how. He wasn't sure he could trust Vogt or Hugo, particularly regarding Laura's involvement, but at least he was certain Nico was impartial.

He had a goldmine to find. He was certain that if he got there he would find Neal, or find someone who knew where he was. He needed to talk to Laura, or find her phone or maybe old letters, information about her involvement. Her family had assured him that she would never get mixed up with the gold business, that she was protective of the environment and would never condone the damage that miners did. But Peter was far more inclined to believe in Mozzie's version of events, and so he pursued both leads.

"Have you checked the river for mercury?" Peter asked, as they stood looking out towards the forest from the veranda.

Mozzie turned towards him, rolling his eyes.

"That was the first thing I did. And the miners would have been quite stupid if they had let their residue reach this river. It flows through several cities, the authorities would have found out immediately."

"So you're saying it was just the canal that was contaminated? Doesn't the canal come from the river? Or does it flow into the river?"

"Actually, the canal comes from a stream that belongs to a separate drainage basin, flowing from the north."

"Have you followed its course?"

"Of course I have. But it's not so simple."

"Why not? I know you would've hacked your way through the jungle up to the source before even thinking of calling me in."

"I'm flattered, Suit, but I'm not exactly Tomb Raider material. The thing about this stream is that its course has not been entirely mapped out."

"But you can still follow it from the bed..." said Nico.

"No, you can't. See, four miles upstream, it disappears under the mountain."

"_Under_ -?"

"It comes from groundwater. It doesn't have its source in groundwater, but it comes down from the mountains, makes a temporary dive into the underworld, and then rises back up to the surface. We can't find it anywhere."

"So out of all the shady contacts you have around the world, you called me up to look for a disappearing river?"

"What was I supposed to do? Neal's my friend and it's been a week! We're laying low here, it's not like I could round up acquaintances and ask them to come over, it took you four days to find this place and you're a _fed_..." Mozzie turned around, breathing hard, and Peter frowned with concern. There was no doubt in his mind now that Neal had not taken off with Laura. He would never do that, not without saying anything, and not without Mozzie. Something had happened, he just didn't know what.

Hugo had a map of the area, and they made a grid around the missing river and the mountain to search one square kilometre at a time. It was all within Vogt land, but far from the plains, in a jagged, rocky terrain where the forest had never been cleared before. If it had been up to Peter, he would've carried a chainsaw or maybe hired a bulldozer to make his way along the grid, but Vogt had a deal with the government to conserve the forest, and they could not touch it. Their pace was so slow it hurt. Hours became days, and the sense of wonder wore off and turned into despair. He couldn't do anything. There was no paper trail to follow, no girl to chase after, no heists, no schemes, no crimes. All he had was a missing river filled with tiny sparkling gold pebbles.

Five days in, Peter was nearing physical and mental exhaustion. Dark thoughts crossed his mind, he couldn't keep the worst-case-scenarios from flooding his thoughts during the day, or the nightmares when he managed to sleep. He had not seen the sun or the sky in the past two days. They were at the foot of the highest hill in Vogt's land, and there the forest was so dark and thick you could not see five feet in front of you. If you strayed from the path and got lost, you were as good as dead. _Is that what happened to you Neal?_ He couldn't bear the thought of it. Lost in that dark green jungle that Mozzie had renamed Dante's Purgatory… It bore a striking resemblance, too. Peter no longer thought it was beautiful, just as he did not think the sea was beautiful when facing a storm. It was too dangerous for beauty. The birds were beautiful, and the butterflies and the flowers, but the forest itself, no. The air inside felt so thick he struggled to breathe, and bright, colourful things meant poison or danger of some kind. The night before, Nico had pointed down to the dark mud and shown Peter the clear paw print of a puma. It had been as big as his hand, claws and all. He had not slept since then. _I will never find him here. _

And then he had a break.

* * *

It happened by chance. They had heard thunder in the distance, and Nico was setting up a tarp roof over the trees to serve as shelter for the night, while Hugo hung their hammocks and made some food. They talked to each other in quick, clipped words that Peter would've never understood even if his Spanish had been better, and he started to wish he'd insisted Mozzie come with them. It would have been good to have someone to talk to. He took out his phone, and seeing he still had 20% left of battery he decided to walk up the hill a little, where they had seen a small pond, with the excuse of cleaning up their set of three metal plates. He raised his phone up in the air, and for a second he got a bar of signal, but then it died. He tried walking a little further up, plates in one hand and phone in the other, but he never got the bar for long enough to make a call. He jumped. His phone beeped, but when he landed he dropped the plates, and they clattered and slid down the leaf-littered ground all the way to the pond. He cursed, pocketed his phone, and walked down, picked them up and cleaned them in the murky water. When he stood, he realised they didn't fit against each other like they had before. He looked down. He held four plates in his hands, not three.

"I found a plate by the pond," he said, walking back under the tarp. Nico was now sitting down trying to make the wet wood catch fire, while Hugo held up a can of sweetened peaches. "I thought this was primary forest. We haven't seen signs of life anywhere around here..."

"Let me see," said Nico, with a frown. Hugo remained standing beside them, struggling with the can opener. Peter kept his three plates, and handed Nico the fourth one. Nico practically snatched it off his hands, holding it to the light.

"This is a gold pan."

"What?"

"Look at these swirls inside. They use these in placer mines, to pick gold from rivers. Have you never seen a western film?" said Nico, and Peter laughed. It was all he could do not to cry out.

"It was in the pond, so how did it get there? Does it mean the river's close? Maybe groundwater has risen to the surface and formed this pond. Someone could've lost this plate in the river and-"

"It's a plate, it doesn't float. No, this was washed down by the rains. There must be a water trail leading to the pond."

They walked up again to the pond, while Hugo stayed behind to watch their stuff - and eat his peaches. Nico pointed at the marks of run-off flowing into the pond, and they followed the grooves in the ground to a tiny stream, flowing south-east down the side of the hill.

"This is it," said Nico. "We need to follow this stream, it will lead us to the underground river."

"Is it a tributary or an outflow?"

"It has to be an outflow. Otherwise this plate would not have ended up here, and this stream is too small to support a gold mine, at least not one large enough to produce a solid gold miniature horse."

Peter smiled, feeling excited again. He didn't even know what he expected to find when he got to where they extracted the gold. Maybe the place would be empty... But no, even if Neal wasn't there, there had to be someone, and at this point he was prepared to do anything to get the information he needed. He ran back to the tarp, and started to untie it in order to keep going. He couldn't care less if it rained.

"Peter," he heard Nico say his name, and he turned around. "Your phone's blinking."

"What?" He reached in his pocket, where the notification light was turning on and off. He remembered it had beeped up there near the pond, and he turned on the display. _2 new voice mails_. He checked the number, but he didn't know it. He pressed it to his ear, and listened, and when a familiar voice sounded he felt all the warmth in his body draining away, his blood running cold, his hands shaking. _Oh, God, Neal..._

* * *

**A/N: I've left you hanging again, I'm so sorry! I'll try to post again soon. I would mean so much to me if you'd leave me a review in the meantime. Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it. Trust me, I will soon fill in the gaps. Bye for now!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I'm sorry it's taken me a whole week to post this! Because of earlier editing, parts of this chapter had to be rewritten. I haven't finished working on it so I'm only posting the first Neal part now, and the second part will come soon, before I get back with Peter. I do promise you, you will hear that voice mail before next Sunday! **

* * *

A large bull walked and then staggered, its legs twisting in the mud. A few more steps and it fell on its side with a sickening thud. Around it, other cows were on their sides, struggling feebly to get up. Others were already dead. Vogt pulled out his hair in despair, while behind him Hugo tried to get the still healthy cattle away from the contaminated canal. Neal stood frozen at the top of the hill, staring at Laura who stood by the canal, near the body. She had tears running down her cheeks, but unlike David, who was also crying, Neal did not think it was because of the cows.

"Pa, I need your help here. Need to round them into the holding fence," said Hugo. Mr. Vogt took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice, and he went to stand beside his son.

"I'll take care of it. You need to go and bring that vet back, right now. She was heading for the Fundo Entre Arroyos, that's due East."

"All right." Hugo turned, and headed for the stables at a run. Neal started coming down, and he stopped next to Laura. Alerted by the noise, Mozzie was also reaching the hillock. Even in the dark Neal saw him pale.

"Laura. Laura, go and bring two horses and the dogs. We need to round them up before the rest drinks the water," said Vogt.

"The... the body..."

"I know. We'll deal with that later; we need to stop this first. We need to close this canal... The sluice gate! David!" he called out his grandson's name, and the boy came towards him at a run, alerted by the frantic voice. "Close the sluice gate, David!"

"What sluice gate?" David called back.

"The one by..." The old man followed the canal and then saw the body caught by the gate. He gulped. "No, stay where you are!" he said, and started walking towards the gate from where he stood near the cows.

"I'll do it," said Neal, taking a step to stand in Vogt's way. Vogt nodded, and Neal went to the sluice gate. With the tip of his boot, he pushed the body just far enough to be able to close the gate, and when he unlocked it, it came crashing down to the bottom, cutting off the flow into the canal. No longer supported by flow of the water, the body slowly slipped down to the emptying canal, and when that happened, it rolled over. Neal stared down into his face. It was a young man, younger than him, with light brown hair and a crooked nose. He wore no shoes, his clothes were torn, and his skin had turned a blue-grey hue that sent shivers down his spine. He looked like he'd spent a couple of days in the water, tumbling down the stream until reaching this gate.

Laura came riding back at a gallop holding the reins of a second horse, a pack of dogs barking behind him, and together with her father they managed to secure the cattle away from the canal. It started raining then, thunder rolling in the distance and dark clouds covering what light the moon gave them, but Neal did not move away from the canal until Laura came back. The moment she climbed down her horse he was beside her, and he held her arm tight.

"Do you know him?" he hissed. Her eyes widened in surprise. She tried to pull away.

"No."

"Do you know that man? Tell me, Laura."

"I haven't seen him in my life, I swear to God."

"Then what on earth is going on?"

"Look at this!" Mozzie called out behind them, and they both turned. He was leaning into the now empty canal, pointing down at something in the water. Mr. Vogt was away, checking on the cows they had not been able to move, so he didn't hear, but David pointed his light to where Mozzie pointed, and they all saw it. Something shiny and metallic shone at the bottom, stuck in the cracks of the slab of concrete that the canal ran through. "Quicksilver," said Mozzie. "That's quicksilver."

Neal turned to Laura, and caught the shock in her face. So she wasn't that good a liar after all… Did that mean she was a cheat, like David had said? He needed to talk to her, somewhere they wouldn't be overheard. He turned away from the canal, taking a deep breath. _This just keeps getting better and better…_ However, despite all the many complications, he couldn't help it but feel excited, thrill like a tingling in his feet. No more waiting now, the game was on.

"We need to call for the police," said Vogt, coming back to the canal where the body lay in shadows. "Laura, I need you to go to town and bring the coroner."

"But it's pouring…"

"That's why you need to leave now if you want to get there by morning."

"Pa…"

"I'll go," Neal butted in, for the second time.

"No," said Vogt. "You don't even know where the Commissariat is and the chief doesn't trust foreigners."

"He can come with me," said Laura. "The chief has transport, so we can take the bike for us. It's too muddy for the horses."

Mr. Vogt seemed to consider it for a moment, and then he nodded.

"All right. Go."

* * *

It was so dark Neal could not see his hands holding on to the metal bars under the dirt-bike's seat. He wanted to ask Laura why she had not volunteered her phone to call the police, why she had not said anything about the mercury or the body, and why had she had tears in her eyes if she did not know the man. He wanted her to tell him the whole story, but the bike was roaring and every time he opened his mouth he tasted rain and mud, and he could hardly open his eyes without feeling the sting of the dirty water. Laura was driving blind, but that didn't mean she was going any slower because of it.

Mozzie had stood in his way before he left with her. Said he shouldn't do anything stupid, like going to a police precinct or showing his face in front of a judge. Just as he was about to do. Why? Because if he let Laura go on her own he could not know what she was going to do, who she was going to contact. If he was still going to make business with her, he needed to know everything.

It was four in the morning when they got to the precinct, not a word spoken on the way, and they stood in front of the empty building drenched in mud. There was no one in, so they sat in the steps. Neal looked up at the stormy sky, his shoulders hunched, and he remembered it was four am in New York, too. Peter was most likely sleeping, unless he had an important case or a stake-out. He remembered the van, and smiled. Devilled ham. _God, it feels like years ago..._ Was Peter looking for him? Yes, he was. Even if he'd signalled him to run, Neal was certain Peter was looking for him. He probably had a map spread all over his living room with colourful pins and strings and pictures of exotic beaches. Knowing him like he did, he would have scratched off the list all countries with extradition treaties, which meant he would _not_ be looking here, but eventually he might consider it. There was a post office two buildings to the right from the stairs, and Neal thought about sending a postcard. He'd even written one back in the house. But, no. Mozzie would freak out if he knew. Still, he imagined Peter sorting through his mail in the morning, and he could see very clearly in his mind the look on his face when he found a postcard of a jungle river. _Concern, then amusement, then excitement._ And knowing Peter, he would be on a plane here within a day. He wondered if Peter was missing their work as much as he was, and he hoped that no trouble had come to him because of his sudden departure. If it had not been for Kramer and all the lies... If it had not been for Kate, or Fowler, or Adler, or Keller... He could've been a free man by now. He could've come to the rainforest as a regular traveller and not a fugitive. He would've been able to send postcards to his friends now, saying _Wish you were here, _and he would've signed his full name on them. And maybe, just maybe, Kate would've been with him.

He was thankful that the Elbow seemed to be a town of early risers. He had not seen the sunrise before and he was glad to have the time to watch it now, but when the sky began to change from dark blue to pink, to yellow, he saw people again. By the time it was light blue, there were women carrying bundles, people heading to the river, auto rickshaws arriving from near hamlets, and river boats and river rafts flowing down despite the tumultuous current. Someone was selling cattle and cows were being lead from a far off farm to the town, where they could be shipped by raft to the lower river. Neal watched the water flow. The river was large, but he knew it flowed into an even larger river, and that river flowed into a larger one, and that river flowed into the Amazon. If he were to jump in the water and float, he might just float all the way back to the Atlantic Ocean. That is, if alligators, pirañas, sharks, and other river/estuary creatures didn't eat him first...

"By the way," Neal muttered, breaking an hour-long silence. "You owe me a day with Mara. You cheated on that game. I want my painting back."

She laughed. She didn't try to deny it.

"I've already hung it. I'm afraid you're just going to have to do without it." She turned her head, and her eyes followed the line of the horizon, the trees that covered the most distant hill. Her fingers fiddled with a gold chain she carried around her neck – bearing a medal as a pendant. She took a deep breath. "Rob loves the forest, just like I do."

Neal turned to look at her. Her hair was wet and it hung heavy and in a mess down to her shoulders. Like him, she was covered in a reddish mud that was turning to dust as it dried.

"A gold miner _and_ an environmentalist? That's a first," said Neal, with a scoff. Laura glared at him.

"He's been here for ten years, he knows this land, respects it. He doesn't dredge. He uses a sluice-box, and pans and sieves. No mercury, no picks and shovels. That quicksilver in the water? It's not his. I don't know who the dead man is."

"Whoever he was, he was also looking for gold. You can't deny that."

"It's not a surprise," Laura shrugged. "There's gold here. Everyone knows it. Only particular deposits are hard to find, so what they do is they pour quicksilver into the water. Gold sticks to it, it's attracted to it. That's how they know where to pan."

"So that's all Rob is doing? Panning? You don't get that much gold through panning. Not enough for that horse of yours."

"Rob found an exposed reef. By a river that people don't know. It was very rich once, now it's almost all gone. In a year, there will be nothing."

"Then how do you know it's not Rob who's prospecting for another spot?"

"He wouldn't. And he doesn't want to work in extraction any more, he wants to retire… He's sending a batch to town tomorrow; he said that was his last one. He doesn't like this business with the prospectors. And then it would be over."

"And you believed him? There are no last jobs, Laura. Trust me on this. He might retire for a while, but then he'll want to go back. We always go back."

"Then why are you still here?"

"I'm here, talking to you about illegal gold extraction. Does that sound like retirement to you?"

She smiled, and stared at the ground. A tiny flower was sprouting between the stone slabs of the floor. She pulled it out and twirled it in her hand. Around them the town was waking up, the curtains being pulled away from the balconies, and the corrugated tin roofs were starting to heat up with the morning sun.

"I'm meeting him tonight. He knows about you," she said. Her voice was quick, like she was getting over a bitter taste. "I've told him."

"I thought it was going to be our secret."

"It still is. I'm going to tell him, whether he stops or not, this is the last time I'll help him. Who knows what damage that spilled mercury has done to the land? Maybe in a few weeks all the grass will be dead… If you still want to get your gold, you'll have to buy it this time."

"Do you trust this man, Laura?"

She smiled, though Neal noticed there was sorrow in her eyes.

"I've known him for a long time. I know what I'm doing."

"Then I still want to go through with it."

* * *

The way back took almost twice as long, as the bikes struggled with the road that had been beaten to a messy jelly by a herd of cattle, and it was eleven in the morning by the time Neal walked up the steps of his house again.

Mozzie was sitting in the table of the veranda. He had a frown plastered on his face, and his hula-dancing doll was sitting on the table in front of him. When Neal closed the netted door and sat beside him, he spoke without looking up.

"The cows all died of mercury poisoning from the water. Almost thirty head, dead. Meat's worthless, too." His voice was steady and serious. Neal came forwards and sat beside him, rubbing off the filth in his hands in his even filthier pants – God, he needed a shower.

"The prosecutor said the man had drowned. He wasn't hurt anywhere, no signs of violence. It happened two or three days ago. That stream runs fast further up its course; it's not the first time this has happened. It was just an accident, Mozz."

"And where did the mercury come from?"

"The man must've had it with him. Gold prospectors are common. The prosecutor says they're not the brightest folk out there…"

"Oh yeah? That prosecutor's an authority on the intelligence of delinquents? And he's a coroner too? This sounds like a con to me. Drowned? There's no way this guy drowned in the stream. You don't drown in a stream."

"I brought a cop and a judge, there was no coroner. This has nothing to do with Laura, Mozz, I talked to her."

"How do you know she's not fooling you now?"

"Because she's not a good liar, she cheats so she doesn't have to lie. She wasn't lying. That dead man might've been a gold prospector all right, but he wasn't prospecting for Laura or Rob."

"Neal." Mozzie leaned in on his seat. "Are you familiar with the phrase 'mad as a hatter'?"

"Alice in Wonderland? The mad hatter?"

"It's older than that. See, hatters used mercury to make felt hats. Mercury poisoned them, and they went mad."

"So you're saying there's a mad gold miner going around murdering people with mercury, and that Laura is a part of his scheme?"

"Honestly, I don't care! Maybe they were trying to send a message to someone, a warning, maybe it was rivalling group, maybe they had a falling out, it doesn't matter! If at any time you were entertaining the thought of getting into the gold business, you can forget about it." Mozzie breathed in deep, and his eyes veered to the hula-dancer. "Vanuatu has no extradition treaty."

"Mozz..."

"I know we're short on cash, but I can probably sell something to get enough for a quick getaway. We can get cheap local IDs at the capital. We can take a bus south and cross the border, then catch a plane from Santiago to Easter Island. From there, you can use your Victor Moreau papers and we can commandeer a boat to Vanuatu. It's a long way, but there's nothing but ocean between us so it shouldn't be too hard."

"Mozz, we can't just up and leave, we-"

"Yes! Yes, we _can _just up and leave! It's what we do, Neal, it's who we are, it's the reason we're here! I know you wanted to finish the inn for Mr. Vogt, but this is getting too weird, there's a dead body stuffed in the cattle freezer, a police officer in the main house, an illegal mining operation in the forest and a mad hatter to top it off... We need to leave. We'll lay low somewhere else."

Neal stood abruptly, and turned away. Mozzie rolled his eyes. "Please tell me this is not about Laura. Whatever she's doing we should not get involved."

"Well, I'm already involved, Mozz. Okay? And these people, they've helped us, they've treated us like family, we can't just-"

"Is this going to be a repeat of the last time? Because, let me remind you, it did not end well."

"If we'd both left, Keller might've killed Elizabeth," said Neal. He ran his hands over his hair breathing hard.

"That's why we need to go _now!_ I like this place, too, but I warned you, this sort of life is not for people like us, we don't get to stay, we don't settle down..."

"It's no life, Mozz!" Neal shouted. His voice echoed in the trees and he took a step back, surprised at how loud it had sounded. "This is no life, and I don't want to run anymore," he said, softly now, and he pushed his chair away and left for the second floor deck.

* * *

Neal sat in the terrace looking out at the forest in the dark. He had not slept the previous night but the anticipation of the job kept him awake, and he waited for Laura with his eyes wide open. Searching for shadows in the trees, he struggled to make sense of it all. He couldn't stop thinking about the gold. It had to be a powerful thing, gold, it had to have a mighty pull; after all, it had shaped history around the world. He told himself it was not surprising that he felt drawn to it, especially when it was moulded and gilded into such beautiful things like Laura's filigree horse. Had Laura felt that way too? Or maybe she had fallen in love with a goldsmith first, and gold came later. Maybe her love of gold became so great that after the goldsmith was dead and gone, she adopted his craft. He might've taught her everything he knew, just as he had taught Kate. He'd seen it happen time and time again.

The dead guy was a mystery all its own. He had to believe he was a prospector who accidentally drowned, spilling all the mercury in the wide canal. As unlikely as it sounded, it was the only thing that fit in with the rest of his conclusions; otherwise, he would be forced to admit there was a psycho on the loose, or that Laura had lied to him, or she was much more naïve than he'd thought, or that she was involved in a murder. Better an illegal gold miner contaminating her own land and stealing from her father and the government than a murderer.

He chose to believe it was an accident.

So, options. He had options. He could leave with Mozzie, and be on the run again, with another name, another life story, never to return. Or he could stay and go through with his plan. If he chose to do that, he had already mapped out the whole thing. He would meet Laura by the sluice gate, after she had gotten the gold from Rob. Laura had insisted that he should never meet Rob, but Neal was planning on convincing her when the time came. He didn't know Rob, but he reckoned it would not be too hard to let him know how useful he could be in a business like the one he was running. If that worked out, he would have an income for the rest of his stay in the farm, and there would be no more worrying about boredom or retirement funds. If Rob did not agree to work with him, or if he seemed untrustworthy, then Neal would just buy the gold, sell his frame, and continue working from a distance. If Rob would not deal with him at all – which was unlikely – then he would go back to the farm, anonymously denounce the operation to the authorities, and then consider relocating.

What he wanted was to see the river where they mined. The prospect alone was exciting, and his mind ran wild imagining all the things he could do with a few grams of pure gold, he could do so much more than just gold frames, with an unlimited supply, he could – but no_._ Their planned relocation was months away and they could certainly use some liquidity, but _no_. Never. He could not forget someone had died, accidental or not. It was out of bounds. The plan was to lay low, he couldn't do this, take a risk like this, for money... But it was either that, or leaving right away, there was no third option, there was no carry on as before.

The rain went on, so strong and so thick that Neal almost missed the thud-thud-thud of hooves as a rider galloped across the field, between the house and the forest. It was coming from over the hill, from the homestead, and even though it was too dark and the rain made everything blurry, Neal had no doubt it was Laura. He stood and came to the edge of the deck, pressing his hands against the netting, but within seconds she was gone from view. She would be heading for the sluice gate.

He went down the stairs making no sound, and he swung his raincoat on, but before he could step out to the veranda where he'd left his boots, a voice startled him.

"Seems like Mighty Zeus has interceded in your favour," Mozzie muttered from the dining room. He had a glass of _Lazarus Rise_ he'd taken from Vogt's liqueur cabinet, the bottle resting beside him on the table.

"Sitting in the dark again? I thought we'd moved past that," said Neal. He came closer to the table, picked a glass for himself, and served a centimetre of the dark brown drink. He figured Laura could wait. "What's that about Zeus?"

Mozzie raised a finger to the sky.

"Storm. The river's high, the roads are impassable. We're stuck here for the foreseeable future."

"Look, Mozz... I need you to trust me on this. If it backfires, then we'll go to Vanuatu, but I need to give it a try. I can't just leave."

"No. You _won't_ just leave. There's a difference."

"It was you who said we needed to do something bold. This is bold. It checks out, I've gone through all the possibilities."

"You can't have gone through all the possibilities, because you don't have all the information."

"You can never have all the information, that's impossible. And it takes all the fun out of it. I'm just going to get the gold tonight, Mozz, I probably won't even see Rob. We're still safe here."

Mozzie took a sip of his drink, then he nodded.

"Well, it's not like we have better plans for tonight. This rain…" He rolled his eyes. "At this pace, we'll have to build ourselves an ark to get out of here."

Neal downed his drink, and stood away from the table. He opened the door and stepped into his boots.

"Have fun in El Dorado," said Mozzie. Neal smiled.

"It'll be a piece of cake. Don't worry so much." He turned, and disappeared into the night.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading! This is short, but there will be more soon, I promise. Tomorrow, if I can. I hope you have enjoyed this, and while you wait you can leave me a review! You know how much I love them. I haven' t had much time to reply to them, what with job 1, job 2, univ and a broken down car, but I will next week. I thank you deeply for them, they brighten my existence. THANK YOU! **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I'm back, with Part 2 of Neal's chapter! I hope you enjoy this, I had to almost completely rewrite this and I'm still struggling with the chapter that follows. I'd like to thank all of you dear readers and especially those of you who have been reading and reviewing with each chapter. Those of you reading but not yet reviewing, I'd like to know what you think too! Soon, I'll be back with more, but for now read on! **

Despite the rain, the sky was clear, and the moon was up so Neal had no need for a light as he tramped across the soft tall grass. The field at its lowest part was so bogged down it felt like he was walking across a swamp, and twice he flooded his boots and almost got sucked in. The frogs were screaming into the dark but they quieted the moment he came close, and nighthawks took flight from their resting places in the ground. The tips of their narrow wings were white, that was all he saw as they flew away, but the moment they folded them they became invisible again, only to fly off a little further when he took another step. He thought he was making no sound, but all the little critters seemed to sense his presence long before he came close, and he wondered if those lurking in the shadows could sense him too.

"You're light on your feet, aren't you?" a voice he knew whispered from a black spot in the trees, answering Neal's unuttered question. He was startled, despite himself, but he managed to recover fast enough.

"Am I going to meet your gold-loving associate tonight?" he asked. Laura stepped out of the woods and came under the moonlight.

"He says he's interested in knowing you," she said. "But I don't think tonight is the right time." Her voice shook, just a little. Neal took a step closer.

"What exactly have you told him about me?"

"I said you were a con artist."

"And my name?"

"No. I haven't mentioned your name."

"Tell me about him. Who is he? How did you meet him?"

Laura sighed, and she sat on the concrete base of the canal.

"He came here… I guess for reasons similar to yours. I never asked him what he did, all I knew was that he was in trouble with some people and he couldn't go back to where he was from. I finished secondary school when I was sixteen and I didn't leave for the capital till I was nineteen, I worked here, in the farm. He was pretty much the only outsider I talked to."

"Where does he live?"

"He has a house on stilts, by the gold river. That's how he calls it, the Gold River. I don't think it has any other name, not at this point of its course. He didn't pan for gold when I met him, though. He had money then and he was lying low."

"So I guess I wasn't truly original when I chose this place…" Neal muttered, then he looked up at Laura. "When did he become a miner?"

A smile formed on Laura's face, but before it was whole, it twisted around the edges. She let her eyes wander around the dark forest glowing with fireflies. Neal could tell she was trying to get her face straight, but she was failing. When she turned to him again she spoke in a hoarse low whisper.

"Have I ever told you about the demon of the forest?" she asked. Neal sighed. _Another story… _But he did not object.

"No, I don't believe you have," he said. She laid back against the tree that stood beside the canal, and hugged her knees to her chest. She looked up at the blurry sky, and the rain poured down on both of them, soaking them to their bones. It didn't matter, though. It was always colder when it rained.

"It's our most famous folk tale…." Laura started. "We call him the _Chullachaqui_, and he is a shape-shifting demon. When you are lost in the greenery, when you can't find your way back and are giving into despair, he comes to you in the shape of an old friend, someone dear to you that you haven't seen in a long, long time. He tells you he will lead you back to safety, but he only takes you deeper and deeper into the forest, to where the giant trees grow. where he has his home. He takes you so deep you have no hope of ever finding the trail back, and then he leaves you alone. The only way to tell him apart is to ask him to show you his right leg. It gives him away, because no matter what shape he adopts, his leg doesn't change. It remains in the shape of a goat."

She stopped, and breathed in and out. Her eyes wandered again. "When I came back from the city after studying, I went into the forest. I wasn't looking for Rob, I was sure he must have left a long time ago. I lost a bet and I walked the twenty steps to the dark hole, but I was so fascinated by seeing my home again that I wandered. I got lost. It got so very dark. When I saw Rob coming towards me, looking so different, I asked him to show me his right leg. He laughed at me. Asked me if I was glad to see him. I wasn't glad to see him. I had hoped that he had gone somewhere better, that he was happy on another part of the world, that he had let go of all the sadness of his past. But all those years, he'd been hiding in the dark parts of the forest, alone, gathering gold like a dragon in a cave."

She lowered her head, her eyes fixed on the ground. Neal was silent for a while, then when the nighthawks rose from the ground around them again, he stepped closer towards her.

"You've been helping him ever since, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Laura blinked once, very slowly, before she answered. "Because he asked me to."

Neal didn't feel the need to ask any more questions – that simple answer told him everything he'd wanted to know. Laura might have told him she wanted to stop dealing in gold, but Neal was sure she would carry on as long as Rob did. He couldn't say for sure if she loved him or not, but it was obvious that at least she had loved him once.

Laura's phone buzzed and she reached for her pocket; Neal caught a glimpse of the screen as she pulled it out, a hand over it to protect it from the rain. Rob. Of course, that was to be expected. He was coming with the gold.

"Let me stay. I want to meet him," he said. She seemed hesitant. "What, don't you trust me?"

"I trust you," she said, but she did not sound convinced.

"Rob, then. Don't you trust him?"

"Of course I do."

"Then what's the problem? Why are you so on edge? This is just a transaction, isn't it?"

She avoided his eyes. She placed her phone against her ear and listened to the message.

"I'm surprised there's signal here..." Neal muttered.

"The phone tower isn't that far, and the flat river land helps," she said, then she flicked the lid of the phone shut and she stood up and stepped away from the canal. "He's on his way here. Don't ask him about his eye."

"His what?"

The leaves were ruffled, and out of the shadows stood a man a few years older than Neal. He had black hair, a little too long, a black stubble of a beard, and thick dark eyebrows. His skin was surprisingly pale, as if he had not seen the sun in years. He wasn't very tall, but he was stocky and had a broad back, he looked strong from hard work. He wore a faded green button-up shirt, and khaki pants cut off at the knees. He had sandals made of black rubber taken from truck tyres, and a wide hat hung from a string from his neck. What caught Neal's attention, though, was his eye. He'd thought Laura's eyes were pretty when they caught the light, because their regular amber colour lightened up to a honey shade, but Rob's eye was golden. It was his right eye, his left was shut. Neal thought at first that he was winking, but then he realised it was permanently closed - there was a chance there wasn't even an eye behind the fold of skin. He was about to make a joke about winking when he remembered Laura's words, and he tried not to stare as he stretched his hand towards him.

"So you're Rob? I've heard a lot about you." Neal said, and Rob shook his hand firmly but briefly. He chuckled softly at his voice. Neal had spoken to him in Spanish, but the man replied in English. He had an accent that had probably once been from Texas, but was now muddled with something else.

"You've heard a lot about me? I'm flattered," he said, and he turned to Laura. "How is your father dealing?" he asked, in the quick clipped Spanish dialect that Mozzie always struggled to understand.

"He's pretty upset. Thank God he didn't lose any of his studs, though."

"It's a shame, really. You said it was an accident?"

"It looks like it," said Laura. Rob shook his head and tsked. Neal dreaded he would ask about the dead man, maybe drop a name, but nothing about his wording revealed he was involved. He looked down, searching for Rob's hands, but they were in darkness. Besides his shut eye, Neal thought he looked pretty normal. Friendly. There had even been concern when he asked Laura about the incident with the cows.

"So, where's the gold, Rob?" he asked, his tone light but straight to the point. Rob replied in the same tone, with a wide grin.

"I don't have it with me. There's a reason I have a middleman – or middle woman in this case," he chuckled. "She didn't say you were going to be here. The gold is still by the river. Most likely, you don't have the payment with you either."

"Laura hasn't even told me the rates. However, I was thinking of proposing a different type of payment."

"Oh yeah? Something better than money? I can't imagine what that might be…" said Rob. He was staring at Neal, slightly amused. Beside him, Laura had relaxed, and as the rain had stopped she was wringing her sodden jacket and trying to make something of her messy hair. Neal leaned back against the nearest tree, and wondered what could he brag about that would impress Rob – none of his old, well-known jobs worked, the man had been hiding in the rainforest for way too long.

"What made you choose this place?" he asked, instead.

"I didn't choose it."

"You didn't?"

"No. It was fate."

"Fate? What, you dropped from the sky?"

"As a matter of fact, that's exactly what happened," he said. Laura turned sharply at him – apparently that was new information for her. Rob shrugged. "Getaway planes don't tend to be up to date on maintenance."

Neal looked up, and smiled, recognising a fellow spirit. He didn't ask what he'd been fleeing, you never asked that sort of thing, and he had no need for details. He didn't need to know what Rob had done – he was a man who'd wiped the record of his previous life and started over. Just as Neal had tried to do, though he'd obviously failed. He had known that he would fail the moment he used his real name.

He crossed his arms.

"I'm good at… imitation," he said. "I have a carved frame – Laura has seen it – that with the right gold for gilding can sell for a lot. You can't earn that much selling your product raw. I have contacts, I have the know-how… I can help you triple your earnings."

"I don't do this for the money," said Rob, and this time he didn't smile. He looked surprised.

"I don't do it for the money, either," said Neal. "Sure, money's good, and it helps, but none of us really do it for the money, do we? Otherwise we'd probably be dealing in drugs, weapons or diamonds, though gold is high up there, too, I guess."

"Why'd you do it then?" Rob asked.

Neal shrugged.

"For the experience. The people you meet, the places you see. For the life. It's a good life. But it's not for everyone."

"You're quite right," said Rob. He grinned. "So you don't just want to buy gold, do you? You've wanted to get involved from the beginning."

"I'm good at what I do," said Neal. Rob seemed to ponder for a moment. He looked at Laura, and muttered something in Spanish that was too quick for Neal to understand. Laura shook her head as a response, she did not speak, but Neal noticed that despite her relaxed appearances, she was balling her fists so tight her knuckles were white. Rob let his hand rest lightly on her shoulder before addressing Neal.

"I need to sell this gold. If you'll buy it, it'll save me the middleman and you get a good price. Once you've sold your painting, we'll see if we can do business."

"That sounds fine by me," said Neal. Rob not willing to trust him straight on, he was playing safe, but that was to be expected. "Though I was hoping to see where you work."

"I wouldn't be very successful if I showed every buyer my secret spot, would I?"

"Come on. I doubt I could find the place again even if I wanted to."

"Ah, but I don't know that. You seem to be a man of many skills."

"Tramping across a forest isn't one of them, trust me," said Laura, rolling her eyes. Neal smiled. It wasn't true, Neal was pretty sure he would be able to find his way even in the dark, green jungle, but it was always better to be underestimated.

"I'll get my frame," he said. "So I can show you what I'm going to do. I will need gold leaf, but I don't have the right tools for gilding."

Rob stared at Laura for a second, and then he nodded.

"Go and get it, then. I'll wait with Laura here, we need to discuss our rates. It'll probably start to rain again soon, so don't take long."

"Of course."

* * *

Rob led the way through the forest at a fast pace, Laura following close behind. Neal kept close, breathing hard, knowing that if he let them walk just a few metres ahead he wouldn't be able to hear or see them any more. There were hoof-marks in the trail, but Laura had left her horse in the stables while Neal went to get his frame, and now they were all walking. Neal wondered why she had done that, but he didn't ask. There was a bird that seemed to be following them, and Rob kept imitating it's wailing call, urging it forwards. It made Neal anxious. He thought of turning back, or excusing himself, of forgetting about the whole thing. But he could do this, he knew he could do this, in levels of danger this scored really low against his previous jobs. Folding back meant admitting defeat, to Mozzie, to Laura, to Rob, and to himself. And he couldn't do that.

"How did you learn to gild?" Rob asked, without turning back. Between them, Laura was very quiet, her shoulders tense. She had not spoken a words since they met again and it was too dark for Neal to see her face.

"An old friend taught me," said Neal.

"The same one who's here with you?"

"No, no…"

"Let me guess. He's not your friend anymore."

Neal smiled. "Actually, he's a she," he said. He remained quiet and Rob did not push the question.

"What other work have you done with gold? Only gilding, or do you know any other techniques?"

"Well, I don't want to brag, but—"

Rob laughed. "Brag all you want. You want to convince me, don't you?"

"All right. I'm good at water gilding, I've worked with gold leaf in paintings and in sculptures… I have also done some work in filigree, but nothing nearly as complex as Laura's horse."

"What?" Rob turned then. Laura stopped walking abruptly and Neal almost bumped into her. "What horse?"

"Oh, just…" Neal's heart thumped so hard against his chest that for a second he wasn't sure he could breathe. For some reason this ground he was treading was dangerous, but he didn't know why, so he couldn't correct himself. "Just a little piece Laura had. I thought the work was quite impressive."

"Oh. Well, jewellery is what sells the best. Chains, medals, crosses, watches, you know. Simple things." Rob chuckled. "I know you're an artist, but don't get carried away with my material, I need something I can sell easy, not something unique."

"Don't worry, I can do that," said Neal. Rob nodded, and walked on.

"You're pretty confident, aren't you?" he said, pushing the undergrowth away. Neal shrugged.

"It comes with the job, I guess. I like what I do. I'm good at it."

"Yeah? And how does a guy as good as you end up hiding in here? You're no Indiana Jones."

"I like birds," said Neal, remembering one of his earliest cover stories. Rob turned briefly, raising his eyebrows.

"Birds?"

"Yeah. I like drawing birds. This country tops the charts for endemic bird diversity, did you know that? More than 1,800 different species…"

"Birds here are fascinating," Rob agreed, nodding, and Neal held back a satisfied smile. "You know, earlier, when I was making that bird call? Do you know how they call that bird here?"

"It was a poor-me-one," said Neal. He was thankful then for David and how he'd named every bird he saw.

"Poor-me-one, yes. It's an ugly bird, really, but its call is really something isn't it? So sad…" Rob looked up to the thick canopy that obscured the dark night sky. He kept walking in silence, waiting, and then when the wail sounded in the distance he lifted a finger. "See? There was one. Laura knows the story, don't you, Laura? The folk tale about how those birds got their call?"

"I've already told him too many folk tales," said Laura.

"Ah, well. He's not really interested in birds anyway, right? But it was a good story. I might use it someday too."

Neal felt his heart skipping a beat but he kept walking straight. He faked a laugh.

"Oh, you know… Force of habit," he said, shrugging. Rob smiled. He walked a few more minutes in silence before turning back, forcing Laura to stop.

"You got caught, didn't you?" he said. "That's why you came here."

"If I'd been caught, I wouldn't be here, would I?" Neal replied. He understood why Rob was asking these questions, but it made him uneasy that he could see through him so easily. And his golden eye was piercing and ever so steady. It occurred to Neal that if he decided to back out, if he decided to call it off, he wouldn't even know how to find his way back. He had thought it would be easy, but it always felt easy outside of the forest. Once you stepped in, it was another world. He had gone in far too deep, and it was far too dark for him to recognise any landmarks. _Easy, easy. Rob's just being thorough. He's got no reason to say no._

"You got caught, but you ran. Didn't you? You probably came here because an island was too obvious, and there are people looking for you."

"Trust me, they will never find me here."

"Oh, I know that," said Rob. He chuckled and Laura was silent. Their pace quickened even as the trail grew more and more crowded by the nearby trees. Neal followed blindly. He was in a position of inferiority and he didn't like it, he was already regretting not following Mozzie's advice - he'd been right, he definitely didn't have all the information. But it was too late now. He had to see this through.

* * *

"We're almost there," Rob announced. Neal wondered when the sun would come up, he felt like he'd been walking for hours and his feet hurt where the rubber boots rubbed against his skin, but it was still so dark. The birds were even louder. The poor-me-one had left for a while but now it was back with its melancholic call and every time it sounded Neal felt the hair rising at the back of his neck. The jungle was endless, and it all looked the same, dark and oppressive and so annoyingly wet, even without the rain. He started to think that he would not see the end of it, and then Rob started to whistle a slow tune, and ahead a light peered at them among the leaves.

"Is that it?" he asked. Rob turned and nodded, Laura walked on with her head bent low. A few more steps ahead they broke from the thick forest and emerged into a clearing next to a hill so sheer it was almost vertical. He could hear the river rolling close but he could not see it. There was a house built of strong, dark timber, high above the ground. All around it was a balcony, and clothes and pieces of fabric hung from the railing, protected by the rain by the wide roof.

"Home sweet home," said Rob, but he kept on walking down an established path. "But our sluice box is by the river. Come, I'll show you the process. It'll be light soon."

Neal followed, studying his surroundings under the moonlight that sneaked between the rain clouds. They were going downhill and the river got very close, but before he could catch a glimpse of it they started walking away from it again, until he could not hear it at all. Laura was behind him now, she was breathing heavily and she kept her eyes downcast.

A wide, wide tree stood in their way, after they had walked for maybe half an hour. In his whole life, Neal had never seen so large a tree, for a few seconds he could not even wrap his mind around it actually being a tree. Its trunk, at its base, was a greyish green and it was much larger than Neal's house back in the farm. Its crown of leaves broke the canopy and emerged in a mushroom shape much higher than the trees around it. A sign stood beside it, staked in the muddy ground. An arrow had been painted in dark orange, pointing down to a darker trail among the bushes._Gold River_, it read, under the light of a kerosene lamp that hung below it. Neal veered from Rob's path and approached the sign. The wood on which it had been painted was a few centimetres thick, and above it stood a little shape. On closer inspection, he could see it was a bull, made of thin copper wiring. He tried to pick it up, but it was nailed to the sign. It stood tall, as if protecting the path. Neal had seen bulls like that before, they were common in ceramic. People placed them on the doors of their houses, like guardians. Looking closer, he could appreciate the detail in the neatly folded wires, and he knew, with a feeling of dread so heavy it was like he'd swallowed a stone, that it had been made by the same man who had given Laura her horse.

He turned. He looked at Rob's hands under the light of the lamp, and spotted the tell-tale blisters in the tips of his fingers.

"You're good with filigree," he said. Rob stopped walking, and shrugged.

"Phone wires are good for that sort of work, but copper leaves stains."

"You prefer to work with gold," said Neal. He glanced at Laura for a second, and then looked straight at Rob's golden eye. "She told me the man who gave her the filigree horse was dead. But you made that horse, didn't you, Rob? You're the goldsmith."

Rob didn't smile or chuckle this time, and Neal immediately regretted having spoken out. Rob paced around the tree and stopped where a large fern grew, its roots seemingly clinging to the bark. He turned towards Laura.

"You said that?" he asked her. She looked at Neal, pleading, but she answered nonetheless.

"Yes. I did."

"For how long?" Rob's voice was very low now, and his accent showed a little more. Laura frowned.

"What?"

"For how long have I been dead to you, Laura?"

She breathed in deep. For a moment she seemed lost for words, but as Neal had expected, she answered straight and true. "Since I came back from the city."

"Ah…" Rob lowered his head for a moment, then he looked up at the sky. It was no longer black, but grey. "Well, maybe I am dead…"

Neal took a step back. He'd stifled his sense of alarm, but it was starting to come back now in full force. He'd been planning to catch Laura in a lie, but it had backfired, and now an awkward silence followed. Laura was pale, and Rob's hands were shaking. It took a while for him to recover his composure.

"Well, I'm sorry," he said, turning to Neal. "Let's get back to where we were."

"Yes," said Neal, jumping at the chance to return to normalcy. He'd talk to Laura later, now he was only thinking of getting back to the farm. And then possibly Vanuatu. "This is all very nice, but I'd like to see the gold now. I have not slept in two days and I'm exhausted."

"Of course," said Rob. "Follow me." He rounded the tree, but when Neal reached the fern where Rob had been standing, Rob stopped, as if he'd forgotten something. "Though before you start getting your hopes up, I should tell you it'll probably be best if I continue to deal with gold in its unprocessed form."

"Is that so?" said Neal. Rob shrugged.

"Yeah. I like you just fine, and I'll supply you this time, but, see, you're a wanted man, Neal. And there are people looking for you. Sooner or later, they will find you. Work done by you out in the world would only make it easier for them."

Neal tried to step back, a shiver running down his spine. Rob was faster, and he held his arm so tight he couldn't move.

"How do you know my name?" Neal asked, and he looked at Laura. She was looking at him too, her eyes were glassy. "You said you had not told him."

"I didn't," she said. Neal believed her. Then Rob pushed him back towards the tree with a strength that surprised him.

"I'm a wanted man, too, Neal. And this forest isn't big enough for both of us."

Neal pulled back and freed himself from Rob's grip. He jumped over the fern scrambling against the tree, but then his feet did not land on the ground as he expected, instead they slipped down. It was so quick he only had the time to feel dread for a flashing instant, and then he started falling into a dark crack between the giant buttress roots of the tree. He grabbed at the branches of the fern and hung there for a moment. Rob had moved back, but Laura still stood in front of him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Somehow he managed to scoff.

"Liar."

Then the branches broke off, and he fell. Darkness dropped like a curtain all around him and the world went black.

**A/N: A literal cliffhanger! I'm so evil! I'm so sorry, but it had to be done. I'll be quick, I promise. Reviews, thoughts, cries of despair, there's a box below for that! I'd love it if you left a review. Until next time! **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I'm back! Thank you oh so brilliant reviewers, and everyone else who is reading this. Here's that much-expected part from Peter, though it is mixed with other view points. There will be more Peter in the next chapter, originally it went on this one but there's still some work to be done on that one and I did promise Sunday so here it goes. In the next-next chapter we're back with Neal. However, at the end of this chapter, the timelines become simultaneous. I hope you like this! **

* * *

Laura did not hear Neal scream as he fell, nor did she hear him land. She knew that cave, and she knew how deep it was, but still the silence that came after shocked her. She wanted to call out, to shout, to shine a light into the narrow opening, but for a long time she stood frozen, and when she finally found the will to move again she searched for Rob. He was down by the trail, near the river, disassembling his small water mill and his sluice box. His pans were already in a heap, tied up and with a loop of rope left to carry them. She made sure he wasn't looking at her, and then she let her phone fall against the tree and slip between the cracks, down to the dark hole. Then she came down to the river.

"What are you doing?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest. It was a cool morning, and she was wet. She was starting to shiver.

"What does it look like," said Rob, without looking up. "I should've done this… God, _years _ago. I should've never stayed so long."

"Where are you going to go?"

"Away. We're going away, Laura. Pack something, will you? The truck is about a mile North."

"The roads are blocked."

Rob laughed bitterly. "I don't care." He swung his bag over his shoulder, his pans rattled. The pieces of sluice box were quickly shoved into a large PVC tube and dragged over the mud.

"You knew who he was," Laura whispered.

"So did you. And you didn't tell me. You liked him, didn't you?"

"Rob…"

"It's time for a new place, the authorities… they're getting too close. This business with that kid, the gold prospector…" Rob rolled his eyes, and kept on packing. Laura followed him, but she made no attempt to gather what little she had up in that gold camp. They started walking back to the house.

It took Laura a while to gather the courage to speak again. By then they had almost reached the house on stilts.

"You never told me you'd come here on a plane."

"That's because I didn't," Rob answered. His voice was clipped, dry. Hollow.

"You lied to him?"

"He wanted to believe I was like him."

"You were. Once."

Rob laughed. "I was never like him. I might've been young and naive, but don't fool yourself, Laura, I always had gold as my aim."

"That's not true. It was different, before, you were—"

"You don't even know me. You know nothing about who I am and what I've done, so don't tell me now that I've changed, that I'm different, because you have no idea who I was before I came here."

He walked ahead, and Laura stayed still for a moment. Rob's rough voice made her cringe — he had never talked to her like that. She watched him climb up the steps to the house and his face was flushed red, his eyes were wide and bloodshot. She could not see in him the man that she had loved. There was nothing left.

"I'm staying," she said. Rob looked down from the balcony.

"What?"

"I'm not going with you, Rob."

He scoffed.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I don't want to go, I don't want this anymore."

"Laura…" his tone softened. "You knew this was going to happen. I told you he was trouble, I told you what had to be done and did you say anything then? No. Now they'll come for him in a few days, most likely, he'll be all right, but _we_ need to go."

"No, _you _need to go."

"We _both_ need to go." He dropped a pan in frustration. "Do you think this is a joke? You knew who your friend was, right? You dug it up, didn't you? Do you not think they'll come? Do you not think they will ask questions? If I'm gone, who are they going to blame?"

Laura repeated Rob's tone and words. "I don't care."

Rob tossed his bag over the balcony, and his things clattered in the mud. Laura spotted a tiny gold filigree crucifix that he'd made a long, long time ago.

"I'm not… _asking_ you, Laura!" he yelled. His voice broke, but it still echoed in the rock cliff behind them. He took quick, gasping breaths, and pulled his damp black hair back. He walked down, steadying himself, and he gathered up his things again. Then he looked up at Laura, who stood firm. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm just… This is… God, this is a mess…" He sighed, rubbed at his only eye. He came closer to her, and his voice got even lower. "Laura, please… You're… You're the only reason I've stayed here for so long, please do this for me, please come with me…"

"You stayed because of me, or because of the gold? Choose one, Rob, it can't be both."

"Laura…"

"It's a simple question."

"No, it's not… You don't' understand, you don't…"

"If I don't understand, it's because you've never told me anything."

"But I will. Come with me, just come with me, I will tell you everything, I promise things will be different. If I stay, I'll probably be caught soon, and I'll go to jail, but I don't want to leave without you."

Laura wanted to say no. She wanted to turn around and run back to the farm, she wanted to call the police and tell her father everything, she wanted to lead Mozzie and her brother back to the tree where Neal had fallen.

But Rob's golden eye was fixed on her and she couldn't do it, she couldn't do any of it. She hated him for it, hated the fact that deep down she still loved him, even if all that was left of that great fire were idle sparks drifting in the wind, soon to become nothing but ashes. She felt weak, and guilt was like a strong hand wrapped tightly around her neck, so tight she couldn't breathe.

She bent down, and helped Rob pick up his things. Then, together, they walked down the path to the truck. When Rob let his hand rest on Laura's shoulder, she did not pull away.

* * *

_You have two new messages._

"Hey, Peter, it's me." Neal's voice sounded clear against the speaker. He was calm, grave, but there was something off. Peter felt his heart drum against his chest. There was a short laugh, and the message went on. "I don't know what to say, uh... Mozzie must have contacted you, so you probably already know I'm in trouble. Tell Mozzie that once I get out he has every right to say _I told you so_ for the rest of my life… So, I'm in a hole in the ground, a cave, underneath a tree with grey bark, you can't miss it, Peter, it's the biggest tree you'll see here. Anyway... yeah, I know, it's vague, forest is full of trees, right? I walked… maybe twenty minutes away from the gold river, East, maybe, I… I'm sorry, it's all I know. Ask Laura. Ask her about Rob. He knows where I am. I'd climb out, but these walls are sheer, and one can only do so much." Another laugh. "There's water, so that's a good thing... I'm very sorry for this trouble, Peter, really, I am... I didn't want this. You might hear something about gold, but I swear I'm not involved, I have done nothing illegal while I've been here. I only considered it. Briefly. Or maybe not so briefly – Anyway, I should save my battery. Weird that I've got a signal here and you don't, right? Don't tell me you're lost, Peter. Did Mozzie give you proper directions or did he send you an x-marks-the-spot map? I'm going to have to talk to him about that. Don't take long." With a click, he was gone.

The cheery but low tone of his voice left Peter feeling a strange hollow, and the excitement was gone the moment he realised he had no answers. He checked the date of the message – it had sent four days ago, but Peter had a feeling it had been recorded earlier.

"What did he say?" Nico asked. Peter took moment to get is voice back.

"He's in a cave under a tree," he said.

"And the second message?"

Peter stared at his screen. With dread, he clicked the button, and placed the phone back against his ear.

He was glad, for just an instant, that he was hearing Neal's voice again. It was still calm and slow, but now there was a hoarse quality to it, it was lower and not as lively. Time had passed, that was obvious.

"Hey, Peter..." The was a big pause, a haunting bird's screech, and then a scoff. "Probably by the time you're hearing this, I'm already dead. And now you're surely freaking out." He laughed, but it was a bitter laugh, almost like a cough. Then he turned serious again. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. I'm almost out of battery but I wanted to apologise for real. I've dragged you from New York and now you must be having a really… really awful time. I hope Mr. Vogt gave you some of his coffee, though. It's so good. Did Elizabeth come with you? She would have loved the inn I was building. This is such a beautiful place, Peter. I hope you don't grow to hate it because of what has happened. I don't even know where I am and I walked here, so don't count this for the score. I cheated. We're 3 and 0. I'm sorry, Peter, and I hope... I hope you know how much all you've done means to me. Who knows? Maybe I would've worked for the FBI for the rest of my life if this hadn't happened. Please tell Elizabeth I'm sorry too, and June, and Sarah, and Diana and Jones and Hughes and everyone. Tell Ellen I love her. Tell my parents I thought of them. And if you see Laura, tell her I'm sorry too, for whatever happened to her. Goodbye Peter."

Peter almost dropped his phone. When he stuffed it back in his pockets his hands shook, and for a few seconds he was unable to draw a breath. He took a step down and looked up at Nico, who had placed a hand on his shoulder seeing him pale.

"Are you all right?" he asked. Peter shook his head, and then shock gave way into anger. He could not toss his phone, but he leaned down, grabbed a handful of the packed clay dirt, and he hurled it in the air, then he kicked the mulch in the ground till his feet touched stone. He thanked God Mozzie wasn't there, or he might've done or said things he would've later regretted. Groaning in frustration, he rested his forehead against the nearest tree, an arm held up above.

"Damn it… Damn it, Neal! For God's sake…"

"Peter. What is it?" said Nico, sounding worried. Peter took a deep breath to steady himself, and he turned around. He handed his phone to the guide, and saw how his face changed as he listened, just like his own had changed a few minutes before, from bewilderment to shock to horror. Then Nico checked the details.

"This was sent three days ago. Three days ago, he was all right."

"Does he sound all right to you?" Peter retorted, then he rubbed the bridge of his nose and breathed in deep again. "What am I telling Ellen? What am I telling Mozzie, and Elizabeth, Oh my God…"

"Peter… Peter! This is a good thing. We need to get back and talk to Mr. Vogt, he might recognise this place he describes. With this rain, he must have water, and he hasn't moved. We can find him. We can still find him."

"It's been… It's been ten days, he's been in that cave for ten days, he…" Peter caught himself, hearing his voice echo on the hill. He slapped himself in the forehead. _What am I doing? Why am I wallowing? There's no time for that! _He gulped, and his eyes came back into focus, his jaw tightened and his fists balled. Nico noticed the change, and he wrapped up their things without another word. Peter turned around. "Hugo! Hugo, do you know of a giant tree with grey bark, a huge tree?"

Hugo frowned, dropping the lid of his peaches. He'd been oblivious of their conversation so far.

"Might be a lupuna. They are rare, here. Why?"

"My friend's trapped under a tree like that. In a cave. Do you know of any cave?"

"Uh… no. Not in our land. At least, I've never seen it. You need to ask my father."

"Yes. We're doing that." Peter rushed forwards, and swung his bag over his shoulder. "Let's go!"

"What, right now? What about the mine?"

"We'll find it by the tree. Following the river will take too long, and we don't have that time. Let's go, for God's sake, get a move on!"

Hugo stood, startled by Peter's sudden commanding voice, and he dropped the plates on the ground. He picked them back up, and started rolling the tarp.

* * *

"Please slow down," Laura pleaded, as Rob thundered round the muddy bend, the tyres of his truck squealing. They had been driving for five days around the rocky hill that was where the river emerged. Going through the farm would've been much faster, so would've been using the horses, but Rob had too much to carry, and he felt safe in his large black truck, ready to run over any obstacle. They had reached the road again, and he drove with his foot stuck to the accelerator, trampling every young tree that stood in their way. It was dark again, and the dark tinted windows made it all look even darker. Laura was not sure how Rob could even see the road.

"If I slow down we'll only feel the bumps more. This is the way you do it."

"The creek is right next to the road, with this mud we could slip…"

"I know what I'm doing!"

Rob stepped even harder on the accelerator, making the engine roar as they managed a steep hill. Going down the tyres skidded and sent mud flying back, but the truck was powerful and it did not get stuck.

"When did you get this car?" Laura asked. Rob clutched at the wheel, concentrating on the road ahead.

"Couple of months. Reckoned it would be useful, and I was right…"

"Where did you get it?"

"Had it shipped by raft from the city, now stop it with the questions, for Christ's sake, I'm driving…"

"Did you kill that gold prospector?"

Rob changed gears without stepping on the clutch pedal, and the stick shift vibrated and screeched in protest. He switched to fifth, and went even faster as a response, but he was not looking at the road. Laura spotted the gleam of far of headlights, but they were obscured when they drove into another bend.

"Rob…"

He didn't slow down, he didn't even look at her. He was gripping at the wheel as if he were hanging from it, and his back was straight, it did not touch his seat.

The headlights came out of the bend.

"Rob! Watch out!"

"What?"

Then he saw it, but it was too late. He knew better than to brake at such speed, so he jerked the wheel to the side and only just managed to pass an old Land Cruiser coming from the other side of the road. He scratched the paint and broke his left hand headlights, his front right side tyre went clear off the road for a moment, flying above the steep ravine. Then they all gripped the mud again, and went on without a pause. Laura let out a shaky breath and held on for dear life, but Rob did not stop, nor did he look back.

"Was that your dad's truck?" he asked. Laura shook her head.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"My father's truck is grey, that one was red."

"God… Who could it be? It's been… uh… five days, five days, they couldn't have possible come for your friend so fast! Oh, hell. Hell, hell, hell."

"Rob, even if it's them, they don't know who you are. They don't know anything about you, what makes you think they would get you in trouble even if we ran into them?"

"We _just ran into them_, Laura! That was them, I know it."

"So what! What are you afraid of! What are they going to do! Charge you for killing that gold prospector? You did kill him, didn't you, Rob?"

"Don't ask me that, Laura. If you still care for me just a little, don't ask me that, don't ask me anything."

Laura lied back in her seat, covering her mouth with her hand. She knew for certain now, and she stared at Rob with sorrow, not shock, because in a way she had always known. She felt like crying. Rob, too, was rubbing his eyes, both now, with shaking fingers, while his other hand held the wheel and yanked it tight to make a bend. He was breathing like a drowning man, and even in the dark Laura could see his eye was glassy with tears. The screen wipers swung from side to side as the rain poured down and it seemed to Laura as if the whole forest was crying.

"Why did you do it?" she asked. He gulped.

"I had to… I had no choice," he said. He no longer sounded strong, or confident, or scary. He just sounded crazy, and Laura found the will to keep pushing.

"That's not what you're afraid of, though. There's something else. Tell me, Rob, what did you do? I need to know. I need to know."

"Just… Shut up! Just shut up, Laura."

"We can fix this. I can help you, but you have to tell me."

"Fix it? What are you going to do? You have no idea…"

"Then tell me! Please, Rob!"

"You don't want to know… what I did…"

"I am asking you, I'm _begging _you to tell me…"

Rob made a sound like a sob, and then he braked hard. The truck skidded, but when it came to a stop he turned to Laura and his face was straight again. Serious. Terrifying.

"Laura, you don't even know my name."

He kept on driving, at a slower pace. He told her then. It was dark and Laura was in the shadows so he couldn't see her eyes widening and the tears beginning to finally come down and join the ever present dampness of the rain. He didn't see the fear, and then the determination in her face as she looked out at the passing trees, and he was too late to brake when she opened her door and threw herself out into the dense rainforest that she had known all her life. He got out and called her name, he stepped over the bushes and pushed the branches away, screaming, but she hid well. Even as he got desperate, as he got deeper and deeper, lost in the thickness, she did not let her presence be known. She watched him from afar, and she remembered the first time she had ever met him, in that same dark wet forest, when they were both very young and very happy. Now she realised maybe it was only her that was happy. Maybe she had never known him at all.

* * *

When the main house of the farm came into view, partly obscured by the hill, Peter stopped his frantic pace, and stared. Something… something was odd, out of place, only he couldn't place it. He kept riding the mule he'd been assigned — he no longer felt ridiculous with it, having witnessed the animal's endurance deep in the forest — but it was only when he was right in front of the house that he noticed what was wrong. It was a sound. A low, reverberating hum. Leaving Nico and Hugo trailing behind, he rode to the front of the house, and there he saw it. Parked like a regular car was a massive Unimog truck, painted green and bearing local military markings. Its engine was off but it had only recently been shut down, so its fan was still whirring inside its hood, cooling the monstrous machine down.

"What on earth…" He stepped down, and strutted inside the house without bothering to take off his mud-caked boots. He heard raised voices, and he went straight to the veranda on the other side. Through the netting, he saw Mr. Vogt, wagging his finger in the air, his face red with rage. With his arm, he was holding a young woman towards him. _Laura! _It was her, he recognised her thick chestnut hair and her freckled face, even though she looked caked with mud from head to toes. His chest rose with the fleeting hope that it was Neal Vogt was yelling at, but then he heard the second voice and he held his breath. He pushed open the screen and stepped out. Mozzie stood against the railing, his face pale. It struck Peter how silent he was.

"Agent Burke! Imagine meeting you here," said Agent Collins, stepping towards him and looking honestly surprised. Peter gritted his teeth. "I'm impressed. Your reputation precedes you. No Bureau resources, and you _still catch your man_."

**A/N: There will be more soon! What did you think of this one? I'd love to know, so if you're feeling up for it, leave a review! I'll see you again before next Sunday! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello, faithful readers (I know you're out there!), I'm back now! Sorry for the delay in posting. I've been rewriting a lot, and there's the job, classes, final exams (sneaky fellows, they've crept up on me again)... Anyway. I hope you'll enjoy this second Peter part, in the next chapter we see what Neal's been up to. Thanks again, all of you reading this! You inspire me. **

* * *

A tense silence fell about the room, interrupted only by the occasional ragged breaths coming from the corner where Laura sat. She had looked composed when Peter had come in, but now her eyes were puffy and she could no longer control the shaking of her hands. Mr. Vogt had wanted to stay by her side but Collins had threatened with charges, careless showing off the gun holstered to his hip while babbling about obstruction of justice, harbouring a fugitive, and other crimes that he had no power to accuse him of, because he had no jurisdiction. But Mr. Vogt didn't know that, and though Peter had wanted to tell him the truth, he had allowed him to leave. He also did not want to talk to Laura with her father in the room.

Mozzie still stood by the railing of the veranda, not even his obvious fear of Collins enough to make him leave, and he stared with hateful eyes at Laura. Nico had stayed with Vogt and Hugo, watching curiously from the other side of the glass dividing wall, and Collins strutted in front of it as if they were his audience. He stood very straight, with his chest proudly thrust forwards, and Peter hated him even more. A deep groove formed in his forehead, and he had to take a moment to breathe before he could speak calmly.

"I haven't caught my man," he said. It took all of his self control not to knock the other agent on his back and force him to tell him what he knew – and then do the same with Laura. He was losing precious time standing there, not looking for Neal, but he was afraid that if he let his impatience show then Collins would know. "He's not here."

"Isn't he?" Collins raised the tone of his voice at the end so he sounded mocking. He stood on the tip of his right foot and wheeled around towards Laura. "Because this young lady I met on my way here, she's got a different story. Don't you?"

Laura looked away and clenched and unclenched her fists. Collins grabbed a chair and placed it in front of him, letting it fall to the ground hard enough for it to leave marks on the floorboards.

"Sit," he said, looking up at Laura, and she did so without a word. Peter moved away from Collins and leaned in closer to Mozzie.

"Fill me in," he said. Mozzie adjusted his glasses.

"Fed number two showed up. Found Laura walking on the road, but that's all I know. She hasn't said anything yet. Your turn, Suit."

"We found an outflow to the river, but that's not why I came back. I got a message from Neal."

"_What?" _Mozzie turned, gaping. Peter stomped over his foot, reminding him Collins was mere feet away from them. Peter was still considering letting the OIA agent know of his findings, after all he could be of help and at this point all he cared about was getting to Neal, but first he wanted to know what Laura had to say. "Where is he? What did he say?"

"Not much. Vague directions. He's trapped in a cave."

"_What?_"

"Do you have a hearing problem? Stop saying _what_. Shush, now."

Collins turned to look at them, and then he returned to face Laura with a very deliberate swing, resting his weight in the balls of his feet. It was obvious to Peter that he was enjoying himself.

"When was the last time you saw Neal Caffrey?" he asked. Laura kept fiddling, she crossed and uncrossed her fingers and tried to avoid a direct stare. Her clothes, her skin and her hair were filthy, she was clearly uncomfortable, but yet, when she spoke, her voice was steady.

"Twelve days ago," she answered, without a pause between her words. Collins paced and did a turn again. Peter wanted to stand up and just ask the only relevant question there was to ask — _where the hell is Neal now?_ - but he didn't want to confront Collins just yet. He wanted to hear what Laura had to tell.

"What is your association with him?" Collins went on. His voice grew progressively louder, and Peter shook with impatience.

"He's my neighbour. We play dice."

"But that's not the only relation you have with him, is it?"

"We're friends…"

"Just friends?"

"Yes. Just friends. I was involved with someone else."

"And not anymore?"

"No."

"Collins, this has no relevance —"

"Quiet, Agent Burke. I am the one that's officially in charge of this interrogation. Now, Laura. Who was this man you were involved with, and that as I've ascertained, your family knows nothing about? What was his name? What did he do?"

"He… His name is Rob. I've known him for ten years. He's… He's a gold miner."

"Oh, so you have a thing for felons, then?"

"Collins…" Peter butted in again, but the OIA went on.

"Or is it shiny things that attract you? Tell me, Laura, what you told me in the truck. What did your boyfriend Rob do?"

"He—" Laura stopped, and for a second looked straight at Peter. "He killed a man." Peter's heart skipped a beat. "A prospector. We found him stuck in the sluice gate." Peter felt no shame in his relief that it wasn't Neal.

"So you knew then that he was no saint, right?"

"I had known before. I've known a long time."

"Then why didn't you just leave him?"

"I… I couldn't."

"You couldn't. Now, Laura. How did Rob and Neal Caffrey meet?"

"I introduced them."

"And after that first meeting, what did Rob say to you? When you were alone?"

"He said…" Laura looked at Peter again, with deep shame and sorrow in her eyes. "He said he wouldn't deal with him. That I'd been wrong to bring him there. He told me he was sorry, but he would have to go."

"And what happened then?"

"The cave, like I told you. Below the trunk of the lupuna. It's a deep cave, very deep. We didn't hear him fall."

"Did you know, before Rob pushed him, what he was going to do?"

Laura covered her face with her hands for a second. Then she lowered them again and kept her gaze on Peter. Only then did her voice waver.

"Yes." She gulped. "I knew."

Collins drummed his fingers on the back of Laura's chair, pacing around her, but at last he pulled away and came to lean against the railing next to Peter. He threw his head back, staring at the rainy sky.

"Laura, you are cold. How could you talk to the man, look at him even, knowing what was to become of him?"

Laura bent down her head and covered her face again. She trembled, holding back sobs, and she didn't answer. Collins tapped his foot on the floor boards.

"What did your man Rob do that made you run away from him and hide in the bushes? What was suddenly so terrible that even someone like _you_ couldn't stand it?"

"That has _nothing_ to do—"

"Answer the question! I decide what's important or not." Collins' voice echoed in the walls of the house and those standing on the other side of the glass partition raised their heads. Laura pushed herself back against her seat and broke down into sobs. They were not loud sobs, but still they sounded of guilt and despair, and for a moment Peter found himself pitying her. Then he forced himself to remember what she'd done, and he looked away. Collins, on the other hand, had not a fleeting sense of compassion.

"Ah, come on," he said, with a mocking sing-song voice. "You can drop this little naïve-little-girl act. Don't play stupid. Where is your cold heart now? You looked into Neal Caffrey's eyes knowing he'd soon be buried underground, covered in leeches and bat droppings, knowing he'd probably die in that wretched hole-"

"Collins!" Peter suddenly yelled, and stood between them. All blood had drained from his face and he felt ill. He didn't even dare look at Mozzie. "This is enough."

"Peter," said Collins with a condescending tone. "You of all people should be glad."

"Why would I be glad?" said Peter, gritting his teeth.

"Because, this means you didn't lose. You have to agree, this turn of events benefits us both."

Peter felt himself shaking.

"For both our sakes, stop talking," he warned. Collins laughed, but he didn't' stop.

"A dead fugitive is much easier to catch. It also means we don't have to process him back in New York. You don't have to worry about an investigation."

"Collins…"

"Face reality, Burke. Twelve days, Neal Caffrey's most likely dead now. Who knows what kind of filth you can find in caves around here, blood-sucking vampires, leeches, definitely some nasty bugs… If the fall didn't kill him, then something else must have. Hell, when we get to the cave we'll probably find nothing but bones and—"

Peter thrust his clenched fist forwards and struck Collins square in the face before he could finish his sentence. Collins swayed and went down, eyes closed, and Peter let out his held breath with a huff. He stood very straight as if electricity had run through him, and he rubbed his reddened knuckles with a slight smile growing on his face. Behind the partition, Vogt and Nico had stood and were now headed for the door. Laura stared at him in stunned silence, but Mozzie stepped forwards.

"That was quite the punch, Suit," he said, flipping Collins over. He was out cold.

"I warned him," said Peter. Despite how quick his blow had been, he still sounded a little winded. "He wouldn't shut up…" He turned suddenly. "This was stupid, I shouldn't have… now when he wakes up…"

"We'll deal with him after we find Neal," said Mozzie. He knelt down next to Collins.

"And you think he'll just patiently wait?"

Mozzie shook his head, and pulled off his shoelaces, which he used to tie back the agent's hands. Then he looked back at the partition.

"Mr. Vogt has an underground cellar. Store room for coffee. It can be locked from the outside."

"Mozzie, we can't…"

"Time's clicking away, Suit. Do you have a better alternative? We need to leave now."

Peter looked around, nervous. His eyes met Laura's and she didn't look away, despite the tears streaming down her cheeks. Again he felt the pang of pity at her situation, but he forced all of his anger into his voice when next he spoke.

"Take him away, lock him up good. Come back here and we'll take Agent Collins' monster truck back to the forest."

Mozzie slid open the partition and both Nico and Mr. Vogt helped him drag Collins by his feet, taking little care as his head slipped down the short step between the veranda and the inside of the house. Once they had disappeared from view, Peter turned towards Laura.

"Do you think he's still alive?" he asked. He tried to keep his voice steady but still it shook. Laura wrinkled her forehead in anguish, and kept fidgeting with her fingers.

"I… I don't know," she said.

"But what do you think? You know that cave."

"He's got water. If he didn't get any open wounds in his fall, he might…" She stopped to take a breath, as if talking tired her. Peter gritted his teeth with impatience.

"Neal was your friend, wasn't he?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You feel guilty about what you did, don't you?"

"Yes. "

"Then why," Peter felt his voice rising, becoming hoarser with rage. "Why didn't you try to stop him? Why didn't you warn him? You didn't do _anything!_"

"You don't understand-"

"You're right. I don't understand. Why did you change your mind later? Why did you decide Rob was a bad person only _after_ he had thrown Neal into that damn cave? For God's sake, was that not enough proof of what kind of person he was?"

"What do you want me to say? I couldn't do it then, I couldn't confront him, I thought I still loved him. Only when he told me…"

"What did he tell you?"

Laura leaned forwards. "He let Neal believe he was like him. A conman. An artist. He is a conman, and he was an artist, but the law wants him for something else." She was whispering now. "He lost it when he realised there might be Lawmen coming here because of Neal. He was afraid, because he's a murderer, and he's been one since the first day I met him, only I never knew."

Peter nodded, and then thought struck him like an arrow.

"His name's Rob. He never told you his last name, did he?"

"No."

"He's got black hair, doesn't he? And only one eye."

Laura looked up.

"How do you know that?"

Peter stood back, just as Mozzie and Nico returned from having locked up Collins. Nico was carrying a thick rope over his shoulders.

"I know that because he's been wanted by the FBI for a long, long time. If you had applied those research skills you used to figure Neal out on him, you would've saved us all the trouble." He turned to Mozzie. "She'll take us to the cave. We'll take Collins' truck."

"Can you drive that thing?" said Mozzie.

"I can try."

* * *

"I knew that black truck belonged to a crook. No law-abiding man drives like that," said Nico, and the moment he was done his head banged on the seat in front as Peter braked and took a hard bend. "Except for you, Peter, of course."

"I think under the circumstances my driving is excused," said Peter. He tried to sound light, but still his lips remained tight and he could not keep his grim thoughts from showing in his face. The fact that Laura, beside him, was so quiet didn't help him keep his hopes up. If he reached the cave and Neal was dead… He couldn't bare it. Just remembering Collins' vivid description of what he might find in that dark place made him feel sick. He wanted to call El, but his phone was dead and even if it had been on he suspected he would not have had any signal. He cursed his service provider, and wondered how Neal had managed to send messages from a hole in the ground.

"You have to veer off the road now." Laura pointed to the right side. "There's a fording point in the stream, and then you can drive along side it. You'll destroy the bed, but… The other road will take days."

"I thought this place was close. That you'd walked there in a few hours."

"They were more than a few. And it wasn't raining so much then. This is the fastest way, trust me."

"We have no choice in that, do we?" said Peter.

"Yeah, maybe she'll lead us all into a large pit and leave us to die," Mozzie added, and kept staring out the tiny window. It still surprised Peter how quiet Mozzie was. It didn't bode well.

"How long now?" he asked Laura. He took the turn she pointed him towards, and dipped the front of the Unimog into the stream. Clay-coloured water sprayed around them, but none seemed to mind.

"Thirty minutes, maybe," said Laura. "Watch out for that rock."

"Damn." Peter pulled at the stiff wheel but still hit a river boulder full on. He expected it to get stuck under the chassis and force them to an abrupt stop, and he braced himself for it, but the truck rolled over it with little more than a metallic clang, and they went on, the left side tyres dipping into the water of the stream. "Where on earth did Collins get this thing?"

"Government resources. You should ask for a raise, Suit, seems they're willing to spend."

"Yeah, right. I had to pay for my own ticket here, cost me a fortune. By the way, Mozzie, you owe me. Your message wasn't really specific. I had to hire a plane."

Mozzie nodded.

"Next time, I'll choose our retirement spot," he whispered.

"Next time?"

"You heard me. Next time."

"There won't be a next time, Mozzie."

"Whatever you say, Suit."

"No, no, I'm being serious here."

"So am I."

"Mozzie-"

"Turn right here," Laura butted in.

"Left? There's a solid wall of trees right-"

Laura threw herself almost on Peter's seat, she grabbed hold of the wheel, and swung it to the right. The truck hit the trees and trampled down on them, but then they were out in a clearing, going fast over soft grassland. Ahead, a clear column of dark smoke rose from above the tree-line.

"What's that?" Nico asked from the back.

"Rob's camp," said Laura.

"I better not find him there," said Peter. If he did, he didn't know if he'd be able to control himself.

They kept breaking through the young trees and bushes, through a dense, wet forest that no ordinary truck would've been able to pass through, until they met the course of the winding stream again, and a sheer wall of rock stopped them. Ahead, they saw the top of a wooden house on stilts. Peter shut down the truck, and Nico jumped down carrying the rope. Behind them, Mozzie held on to a duffel bag where he'd previously packed every first aid kit and medicine they had found in both his own house and Mr. Vogt's.

"From here, we walk," said Laura, and she led the way with an uneasy step. Peter followed closed behind, and all the way no one spoke. It started to rain, and at every step they sunk to their knees in the muddy ground, but no one complained, no one said anything. To Peter, that walk felt strangely surreal. He couldn't believe he was there. Five years before, he would've never imagined he would ever be in a situation like the one he was in. He would have never imagined risking everything, as he was doing now, for someone he'd put in jail. But at that moment it felt incredibly right. He gave himself faith and hope and willpower with every step. Neal was smart. He'd probably built himself a shelter down in that cave. He had to be all right. And when he found him, he'd be glad to slap handcuffs on him, if that was what was necessary to bring him home.

_Next time_. Mozzie's words rang in his ears. What did that mean? Did Mozzie really expect for him to let them both go again? If he hadn't lost his job now, he would definitely be out in the street if he went back to Hughes bug-bitten but empty handed. But he couldn't just throw Neal back to prison. That wasn't fair. Neal had run at his signal. There had to be away to get him his deal back, if only it had not been for the Raphael, for Keller, for Kramer…

"Oh my God," Nico stopped in his tracks, Mozzie bumped behind him, and they all stopped and looked up. Peter felt all his gathered courage plummeting to the ground, and suddenly he was terrified. Shaking, he craned his neck and stared at the largest tree that he'd ever seen in his life.

* * *

**There will be more soon! Next chapter, FINALLY, both POVs join up. I know you've been waiting for it! Any thoughts, comments, cries of despair, there's a box below. You know, I didn't use to review at all before. I was embarrassed. Then I started posting myself and I finally understood these little A/N at the end of each chapter. When I see an email with (Review) on the subject, I jump up and down with joy. **

**I hope you're enjoying this, and I look forwards to hearing from you or seeing you again next chapter. There's a lot more to come! Until then! **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hey everyone! I'm sorry for the delay, but I'm in finals. This is a teaser, I will post the whole chapter once I'm done! There's still some work I have to do on it. Again, thank you all of you readers and reviewers! I'm already working on another WC story that I will post once this is finished. This has been so much fun, and there're still a few chapters to go! I hope you'll enjoy them. **

* * *

A high-pitched clicking sound roused him from a sleep he thought was deep, but the moment he opened his eyes he realised he'd been hearing it for quite some time, now, in his dreams. He could not see the birds, the darkness was great, but slowly he became aware of his surroundings. He was lying half-buried in deep, wet mud, only the tip of his right knee stuck out and his left was completely underground. He tried to pry himself free, but when he pulled his arms sunk, and he only managed to get himself deeper. He heard the jittering sound of tiny creatures creeping around him, and when he felt the soft tingling touch of a crawling bug behind his neck he swung back and swatted his head against the mud. He felt an itch, and in despair he tried pulling his legs towards his chest.

It was then that he felt the pain.

It irradiated up from his lower left leg and hit him so hard he had to hold his breath, a white glaze appeared over his eyes and his blood drained from his face. He felt faint, and for a while he could not move nor blink. He was no stranger to pain, but he'd never felt anything like that.

It was an hour before he could try and get himself free again. He thought it was an hour, but it might've been only a few minutes, it was impossible to tell in the dark. All that time he stared around him. There was one point, high up in the ceiling of the cave that shone with the dappled light that sneaked between the branches and the overhanging lianas and roots. That was the opening. It was very small, but the cave was large. It extended deep under the tree, its roots broke the wall of stone in several places. The light of the opening did not reach the ground where he lay, but slowly, very slowly, his eyes became used to the blackness, and he began to distinguish its many shades. He still couldn't see the ground around him, but he could just tell apart the outline of the sheer stone walls, and a reflexion of water in a dark corner where the roof was low.

On the ceiling over his head he could see the shimmering eyes of the birds. There were thousands of them, nesting on cracks on the walls high above the ground, screeching and batting their wings. They looked a little like nightjars, but they were larger, and more owl-like. Their smell was sharp and disgusting, a mixture of burnt oil, wet rot and sulphur, and it didn't take long for him to realise that the mud he was trapped in, it wasn't just mud.

He was lying on layers upon layers of bird poop. It had cushioned his fall, and most likely saved his life.

If he stuck his watch close to his ear he could hear the seconds click and it gave him a strange comfort, though it failed to shut out the louder, higher-pitched clicking of the birds. They were so loud his ears hurt, but there was one thing good about them — they kept him from falling asleep. With much effort he managed to unbury himself till he was sitting up, and from that position he reached around him till his hands touched a boulder. Using it as support he pulled his legs free.

He tried not to think of anything but his immediate future, and what instinct told him he should do. _First, assess damage._ He sat as straight as he could and felt down his legs. It was the left one that hurt, but his pants were covering it and he didn't want to lift the leg and get it all dirty if there was a wound that could get infected. There was no blood that he could see, but then again he couldn't see very much. He was pretty sure something was broken, but his pain was too great for him to be able to pinpoint the exact spot, so first he needed light.

Light. Fire. Firewood and a spark. _I can do that_. Yes, it was simple enough. He'd done it before. He was not exactly an outdoorsman but starting a fire was a basic skill. Boy scouts could do it, so he should have no problem.

That's what he told himself. But it was not that easy.

Under the opening of the cave lay a heap of broken twigs and debris that had fallen from the ground level over time — possibly a very long time. There was wood, yes, and he managed to get at it by dragging himself over the less-soft mud. _God, he was filthy. _He fantasised with a shower as he piled the good pieces of timber in a perfect pyramid, and he selected a square (or square-ish) block of soft wood, a long stick, and a flexible liana for his improvised lighter. It was only when he searched for dry leaves — his initial fuel — that he realised his problem. Everything was wet.

"Damned rain."

_Rain… Rain… Rain…._

He said it softly, but still he was surprised at how his voice echoed. He considered screaming for help, but if there was anyone near, it was Rob or Laura, and he didn't want either of them to come back.

_Laura_. How could he have been so blind? He should've known, he should've been able to tell… He hadn't even needed the money, not really. _So, so stupid._ Mozzie would have the right to mock him now till the end of times. _I told you so_. Yes, he'd told him so, but he hadn't listened.

He pushed those thoughts away. Methodical, he had to be methodical, that was the only way he was getting out of that place. He could waste no time, he could not stop and think of his pain. Emptying his pockets, he found he still had with him his set of picks, which always included a small knife. He cut the liana to the right size, braided it for added strength, and tied it to each end of the string like a bow. Then he used the knife to sharpen a second stick, and he made a small hole in the centre of his soft wood cube. He set the cube over two flattened pieces of wood that just raised it from the boulder, and between those sticks, over the boulder but under the block, he stuffed the driest leaves he could find. He grabbed the sharpened stick, and made a loop around it with the liana. He placed the pointy end against the hole in the block, and grabbed the other end. With his other hand, he held the "bow", and he began to pull it back and forth. As the stick was held in its place, it spun. Again and again he thrust, forwards and backwards, until he was panting with exertion and his leg hurt more than ever. He saw a thin whiff of smoke coming from the block, but when he dropped it, unable to keep spinning it, he found it was barely warm.

He gathered his firewood and materials, and placed them over the boulder, where the dampness of the ground would not reach them. He would have to leave them to dry for a while before he could try again.

The cave was large. Using a sturdy stick to support himself, he limped around its perimeter and found there was no escape. It was shaped like a bottle of good cognac, large and round at the bottom, thin-necked and narrow at the top. Around the edges the roof was lower and there were stalactites hanging from above, so sharp that Neal feared walking under them in case they might fall. It was lowest over a pool of black water. Neal stooped next to it, and dipped his hand in the warm liquid. It was thick with sediment, and it smelled foul. He was thirsty, but drinking that basically guaranteed getting sick. He tried to remember all he knew about caves, and he wondered if there was a tunnel under that water. He shook his head, and limped away from the pool. There was no way he was diving in there. He was not yet so desperate.

The driest spot was right next to the boulder, tucked away so it was neither visible nor reached by the opening and the light the poured from it. The roof over that spot had no nests, and therefore the rock was bare, and Neal could sit there without sinking into sediment as elsewhere on the cave. As the sun above went down, the light travelled briefly into the cave, and for mere seconds it touched the spot where Neal had fallen. His body was outlined on the soft dark ground, but it surprised Neal how close the place where his head had landed was to the boulder. A few inches off, and he would've been killed instantly. All in all, he'd been lucky.

_Lucky_. The word made him chuckle bitterly, and the walls chuckled back at him.

* * *

**Sorry again for such a short piece! I will try to get it done soon. In the meantime leave me a review, and cross your fingers that I'll pass Criminology tomorrow! **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hello again! Since you were so great, and you read and reviewed so quickly, and since my professor was kind to me, I'll post another part of that long chapter I owed you that will now end up becoming several shorter chapters. Don't despair! (I know it's hard!). There will be more. In the meantime, enjoy this! **

* * *

It rained, and the water poured down from the opening like a waterfall. It was stained a reddish brown from the mud, but still it was cleaner than the stagnant pool in the corner of the cave, and Neal stood under it for as long as it lasted, drinking and trying to get the plastered mud off his clothes and skin. It worked somewhat, but it left him with a taste of clay in his mouth. It wasn't night yet, but when he went back to sit in the boulder he felt as though whole days had passed. A deep weariness had set on him, in his bones, and the pain and the growing hunger only made it worse. He wanted to sleep but yet the prospect of lying down in the mud with all the bugs he could not see did not appeal to him.

From the boulder, it was easy to see that the spot right under the opening was raised slightly higher than the rest of the cave, from accumulated dead leaves, branches and mud. He used one of the straightest branches he could find and he tied it around his injured leg to serve as a splint. With it, he could move with a little more ease. He inventoried his possessions: a set of picks, a watch with no back light, his shirt, his pants, his boots. Scavenging about the ground – he had to go by touch since he could not see – he'd found a couple of rusted old soup cans, some wrappers and a narrow metal cane. It served to prove he was not as far from civilisation as he'd thought, but he could find no use for them. He was surrounded by sheer rock. Even if he had not been hurt, he was only a man. And no man could hope to climb out of there.

At night, all residual light faded. Despite the fact that his eyes were now used to the dark, he could see nothing, not even his hand in front of his face. He tried again to light the fire, but it was futile, and he was too tired. His clothes clung to his skin, damp and gritty. It was one of the things that he had not managed to get used to, living there. You always felt damp, and when you got wet, it was close to impossible to get dry again.

He slumped on the rock, feeling defeated. What was he to do now? His mind wandered, and he pictured living in that cave for years and years, eating birds and rotten water, slowly losing his mind, until he no longer remembered the sun or the sky, until all he could hear was the screeching of the birds – and nothing more. He imagined a rope being flung from the jagged opening. He imagined being found by spelunking tourists, a toothless old man with long hair and beard. He imagined that those tourists might somehow find out his name, and that they would take him to Peter. Peter would not recognise him.

He smiled, but the corners of his mouth still pointed downwards. Would Peter recognise him, even now?

He sighed, and realised it would probably never come to that. He would die of disease or infection long before his hair grew long. Maybe it would only take a week or two, before Mozzie even noticed he-

He straightened up abruptly. No. _No_. Was this the way his life would come to an end? It couldn't. He was more than that. He'd gotten out of worse than this. He wasn't just a man, he was… _more_. And if he wasn't, then he had to think of others. He had to trust Mozzie. Mozzie would come through. And if he didn't, then he was to have a back up plan.

He looked around him, at the heap of wood by the opening, and he decided he was going to make himself a ladder.

* * *

Time passed quicker once he had a purpose, and he managed to place the hunger and the pain in a corner of his mind, where he could pretend it wasn't there. In the jet black darkness he tore up the sleeves of his shirt and wove them into twine, then he did the same with the elastic bark of some of the branches. It was a long night of rope-making, the screeching and fluttering of the birds becoming progressively louder, and before he spotted the shimmer of light by the overhanging roots, he thought it might be night forever. Down there, there wasn't much of a difference, anyway.

In three days, he had the stiles set up against the walls, and half of the rungs, but his work was much slower. He had to stop constantly, his left foot had gone numb and he could no longer feel his toes. A pain dwelled permanently behind his eyes and every time he moved, the effort made him dizzy. The hunger was something real now, that he could feel in his stomach, a burning lack, and he wandered close to the birds in case he found a fallen nestling. When there was nothing, he began to throw stones. The despair he'd crushed down bubbled up at that moment, and with it a streak of madness. The birds left the walls and swarmed in a clould around him but he did not stop.

"Damn you!" he screamed at them. The echoes were lost in the screeching. He grabbed a large rock from the ground and threw it at the empty nests. "I'm wrecking… your nests! Won't you come back…! For your… eggs?! You… _irresponsible_ mothers! You abandon your children!"

Two nests came off. He searched with both guilt and hunger for a fallen egg, but he found none. He wondered though, if he would have eaten one raw if he had found one, or if he had not yet come to that point.

* * *

It rained harder than ever his third night. He could hear the thunder from down there, and the lightning reached him like the flashes of a camera – too swift to allow him to make anything out in the dark. The bugs fled the sodden mud and they crept up to his boulder seeking higher ground. Though he stuffed cotton from his shirt into his ears, and tried to shut out their shuffling and jittering, he felt them when he turned or moved. Though he tried, he could not squash them all.

"God…" he whispered, swallowing back to try and ease the lump of hopelessness that had formed in his throat. He begged for something – anything, to help him stop this torture that was worse than the hunger, or the pain, or the darkness. And then a warm drop fell on his hand as he rubbed his eyes. It was thick, and foul-smelling, and though he knew what it was he laughed when he realised for the first time what it meant, and what he had previously missed. He looked up at the birds with their shining eyes. Oil birds, that was what David had called them. Their droppings were high in minerals. Very flammable.

He rubbed his dry fuel leaves on the walls covered in droppings, and placed them back under the wooden cube with the hole. He held the bow he had built his first day there, and swung it back and forth just as he'd done before. Though his strength was diminished, he found it in himself to pull harder and longer, past the point when the white smoke rose, and the sharpened tip of the stick burnt red, and the wood dissolved into embers. And then, like a miracle, the leaves caught fire. They burned first with a green incandescence, and then as he placed other leaves and twigs over them the yellow flames rose and warmed his face. He dropped back, his shoulders and back burning, his heart thumping in his chest, but he laughed.

"Fire. Fire! Who said I couldn't do it?"

He began to see the cave, really see it, for the first time. He fed the fire until it grew large enough to shine on the whole of the place, even the cornes where the stalactites cast eerie shadows on the walls. The birds, frightened by the smoke, flew out the opening and for once there was silence. The colour of the walls surprised him – it was not black but tarry brown, with streaks of white that looked like quartz. Bugs rose from the earth under the fire and they scurried away, leaving him alone, but the flying bugs were attracted to the light and they swarmed around it.

He looked down on himself. He was even filthier than he had imagined, his clothes and skin were black from the mud even after he had tried washing off. He noticed insect bites and rashes all over his arms and ankles, and slowly, very slowly, he lifted the left side of his pants to look at his leg. He took a sharp in-breath, and pulled back the cloth. It was swollen, warm to the touch, and darkened, from his upper ankle, almost to his knee. It felt stiff and numb. He had probably landed right on top of it.

He made his finishing touches to the ladder, and then took a lit up branch for his fire and retreated to his dry spot behind the boulder. He let the branch smoke with leaves, to scare bugs away, and he laid down to sleep. He felt at ease for the first time since he'd fallen, and it did not take him long to fall asleep. He was going to climb up in the morning.

* * *

"Today!" he announced, standing below his ladder. "Today, we're going up. We're going up today, ladder. Well, I am. You, my lovely ladder, will stay right here in case Rob is waiting up there to throw me back in – you never know, right?" He laughed, and stroked the stiles of his ladder. It had held him well so far, but he had not attempted to climb to the top yet. "So, I'm sorry, lovely, ladder. It seems we will only have known each other a short time."

He adjusted the base, ceremoniously gathered his things, and then took a first step up the rungs. It slipped, but only a little.

"Come on, now…"

He went straight to the second stop, and quickly jumped to the third before it could give under his weight. He supported himself on the stiles to avoid putting much strain on the rungs, but as he got higher he felt them swerve, the unions of the branches creaking and bending. Halfway through, he came into the light, beautiful, blinding morning light, and for a moment everything was white and marvellous and he forgot his hopelessness. He even thought about what he would tell Peter about this, once he saw him again – he _was _going to see him again, he'd decided that already, it didn't matter what Mozzie said. He raised his leg to step again, one more step to touch the root of the giant tree, and then the stiles folded. The bindings broke and the rungs slipped down from under him. He plummeted to the ground with the rest of the ladder coming on top of him in splinters. He felt as though he'd been robbed off all the air on his lungs as he landed on his back, but as soon as his vision clear and he saw the jagged opening he took a gasping breath.

"No! No!"

He shook his head. _So close! _The pain in his leg flared again and angry tears formed in the corner of his eyes. He pushed the rungs off of him and sat up, taking tiny gasps to get air back into his chest.

"God… This isn't… This is not fair!"

_Fair! Fair! Fair!_

"I don't deserve this."

He bent his head down, low. The fire had gone off, leaving only embers. He collapsed back against the boulder, but with the last of his strength he flung fresh leaves at the charred remains, and with the help of the bird poop, the leaves lit up. Neal closed his eyes, but when he heard a sizzle he opened them again, and just then the light reflected on something in the mud under the opening. He crawled towards it, slowly, and then reached for that speck of light. Despite the fact that he could not really see it, the moment his hands wrapped around it, he knew what it was.

A phone. Laura's phone.

He pressed the end-key, and it blinked to life. He chuckled.

"You're full of surprises, aren't you?" he muttered. She must have tossed it in after he fell, but it was a futile gesture. She obviously knew he would never get any signal down there. The screen read 'searching', and it angered him in a way he had not expected – hope, when fleeting, only brought more despair with it. He flung it to the other side of the boulder and rested his head back. He regretted it moments later, but when he tried to go and get it he realised he no longer had the strength to do so. He closed his eyes, and a troubled sleep took him.

* * *

The heat of the flames scorching the hair in his arms woke him up, but he found he could not stand anymore. He could no longer tell if it was day or night from where he sat, not with the fire on, and he lost track of the time he'd spent there. He licked his lips and felt them chapped, but the effort of getting under the opening to catch the rainwater seemed too great, then. And he didn't want to get wet. He was cold, shivering now, despite the sweat that covered him. At first he didn't understand, his thoughts were muddled, his mind felt foggy, bogged down. Then he recognised it as a fever, and he scoffed. He would not live to be a crazy old cave man, then. He felt strangely relieved by that thought.

He let the fire die again. Once its light faded, he could once again see that of the opening, and he found comfort in the leaves that caught the sunlight, high up there under the tree. They reminded him that there was still a world out there, that he was not alone. It was a weak hope, but it was better than nothing. He watched it, all day long until it faded into night, and once again he dreamt.

For a while, he entertained thoughts that Laura and Rob would come back for him, that they had not really intended to kill him. Then he thought, well, maybe Rob would go on, but Laura might change her mind. He might've been wrong about her, but his assessment about who she was had not yet been disproved. She was a good person, deep down. She could save him yet.

He waited, but she did not come. Mozzie did not come either, no one came. No once called his name from the top, no one peered down to check if he was still alive, no one bothered. He wanted to keep trying, to climb out, to build another ladder, to throw a rope and hope to get it to tie itself up in the surface. It was with bitterness that he conceded that, even if there was a firm ladder dropping from the heavens, he might not be able to climb it now.

There was no hunger anymore. It was over.

* * *

His mind was drifting, but a sound of ruffling brought it back. It was not the birds – they were strangely quiet. His eyes travelled to the opening, and he almost jumped right out of the mud when he saw the rope. His ears were buzzing, so he could not really make out any sound, but clearly he saw a figure climbing down, and then landing in the mud. It did not carry a light. It moved slowly around, but with confidence, with determination. Neal did not have to wait to see the figure under the light to know who it was.

"Peter?" he called. His voice was hoarse and for a moment he didn't know if he'd been heard. Then the figure turned, and went straight towards him. Peter carried an antique gas lamp that reminded Neal of Aladdin's lamp. Its light was yellow and wavering.

"Neal. You're here." The voice was hushed, but filled with emotion. Peter leaned next to him, and held his arm. "We need to get you out of here."

"I knew you'd come," Neal said, smiling, thought it was a lie. It didn't matter, Peter was here. Nothing mattered.

"Come on. Let's get you up," said Peter. He carefully lifted Neal off the ground and pulled his arm over his shoulder. Neal let his head hang forwards in exhaustion.

"Is someone up there… to lift us up?" he asked. Peter surprised him by shaking his head.

"No. We can't go back that way, the rope won't hold."

"But… what other way…?"

"There's another entrance. Come on."

Peter half carried him to the corner of the cave, where the stalactites towered above their heads. Neal wondered how could he have missed another entrance, but then he felt his feet sink into cold water. They were in the pool.

"No. Not that way. You've got it wrong…" he said, and pulled back. Peter patted his back and smiled kindly.

"It's all right, Neal. Trust me."

"I trust you, but…"

"Trust me. I'll get you out. It'll be okay. I'm just rounding up this heap of branches."

"Yes, but… why this way? Why…?"

"Calm down, Neal."

Suddenly his legs gave. He splashed into the black, stinking water, and sank. The shock was so great he gasped while still under and he swallowed, and then gagged. When he managed to get his head back up, Peter was still there standing with his ankles in the pool, leaning down in front of him with a frown on his face.

"Neal. What are you doing?" he asked, with concern.

"Help me out," Neal pleaded. He splashed to the muddy back and tried to pull himself out but he had no hold. Peter reached for him, but then Neal tried for a hold once more and his hands tightened against Peter's legs. His left hand grasped a bare ankle; his left grasped a bony, hairy hoof. He screamed, and threw himself back, sinking in the dark water. When he came out, there was no eerie yellow light anymore, and he was alone.

* * *

It took him hours to get himself back to the boulder. He had to crawl, he could not walk, and that was what scared him the most, because it meant that Peter had not been a dream. Once he was lying in his dry spot again, he kept his eyes open in case he came back, but he didn't, and his thoughts came back to Laura and her stories. Did she believe them? Was this real? Was this the tree where the demon lived? He shivered with fear at the thought of it, and gagged again as he still felt in his mouth the rotting sediment of the water. If he'd had anything in his stomach he knew he would've been sick.

Though he drifted in and out of dreams, he knew that he was awake when the demon came back. It was not Peter this time. It didn't show up flashing a light or coming down a rope. It was just, suddenly, _there_.

"Hey, Neal."

He lifted his eyes at the soft voice, that he thought he would never again feel in his life, and in that moment he didn't care if she was real or not.

"Hey, Kate."

"What mess you've gotten yourself into…"

"Tell me about it. Couldn't do it without you, you know…"

"Ah, that's not true. You did just fine before you met me. And you've done just fine since. Even better, I'd say."

"But it's not the same…"

"Oh, no, don't blame this on me. You should have known better."

"Yeah." Neal sighed. "I know that. But with Laura… I tried to be angry at her. I was, at first. But I don't think I'm angry anymore."

"That's because you're like her, that way. You would do anything for love."

"But you're not a psychopath and a murderer."

"How do you know that? How do you know I did not plan on selling you out? On using you to get my way? How do you know that's not exactly what I was doing the day I boarded that plane?"

"I choose not to believe that."

"You can choose whatever you want. But there is only one truth."

Neal turned his head away. He rubbed his eyes with a tired hand. He was so tired, now…

"Why are you here, Kate?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Am I, really?"

"Do you have a goat's leg?"

She laughed. When he blinked, she was gone.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Did I fool any of you at first? I am evil (you can probably tell!). I promise it won't be long now! I hope you like this. Leave me a review or comment in the box below, and in the meantime I'll be hard at work to post the next part. This story, initially only 30k long, has just reached NaNoWriMo length. Hurray! **


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Yes, I'm back! I've been stretching your patience and keeping you hanging since late April - Now hang no more! Well, it's not over yet, there's still a lot left, but it's the end of this chapter. I enjoyed writing it, I hope you also enjoy reading it. Thank you all for your incredibly speedy reviews and for all of you silently reading this! **

* * *

_Searching… Searching…_

He held the phone in his hands. It was an old model, the kind that doesn't run out of battery in one day. It had an antenna you could lift but it still did not catch a signal. He could not remember when he'd found it again in the mud, maybe he'd wondered in his half-awake state, he couldn't know, he had just opened his eyes and found it staring at him in his hand. Clutching it now, he felt a little bit stronger. Strong enough to care, and to feel again the weight of despair. This was his connection to the world, his cruel piece of hope that would not leave him alone. All he could do now was wait, just lie there and wait for a miracle, an answer to his prayers and his promises. Why was he holding on to that phone? He was sure he'd tossed it far, so far he would never have to see it again and recall his failure, his betrayal. It felt like a wicked trick, meant to cause him grief. He'd asked for so much, he'd made so many vows, and the only extraordinary thing that had happened was that phone he now held.

Useless.

He let his hand drop to the ground with the phone, and there was a metallic clang. Feeling down, he found the metal rod he'd gathered while scavenging. The cans were not far from there, half sunk in the mud. He stared up at the opening, and suddenly his heart beat faster. He even laughed, and as he did so he found the will to sit up and to push his anguish and his fear back down to that corner in his mind, where they belonged, next to the pain and the guilt and the hunger. The metal rod was crooked, but when he straightened it he saw that it could be stretched to three times its length – it was part of an old TV rabbit's ears. _Why did I not think of that before?_

* * *

It took him just a short while of gathering before he felt convinced that he had everything he needed to make himself a signal booster. Putting it together, he felt that not even MacGyver would've been able to do a better job in his particular situation. He was proud of his work, prouder than he'd been of his neon jungle scene or of his wooden frame, prouder than he'd been when he pulled the Raphael job, prouder than ever before in his life.

He turned the phone on, again. He placed it in position. Like magic, a tiny bar appeared next to the cell tower symbol, and the 'searching…' sign was gone.

"It's alive! It's alive!" he yelled with a maniacal laugh, and he lost not a second before he dialled Peter's number.

His heart fell to the ground when it went straight to voicemail. He cursed, and tried again, and again. He tried the FBI office, and Diana's number, and Jones, and Peter's house, and El's phone, and June's, even Sara's, but for all of those he got a message saying he lacked the funds to make international calls. He was thankful for that, it meant Peter was close, but he would not pick up. Then the phone vibrated, warning of low battery, so he left a message with his location as accurate as he could describe it, and turn it off.

He waited. For some reason, he didn't have as much patience now. The hunger, the pain, the itchiness of his skin and the dark fog in his mind, it all felt worse. He kept dreaming of helicopters landing above, of people with FBI jackets base jumping down from the opening, of Peter coming to the rescue within minutes. When a day passed and that didn't happen, hopelessness returned stronger than ever.

How long could it possibly take him to come? He was FBI for God's sake. He had resources. And he wasn't _that_ far from the road, or was he? Someone had to know about the cave, or about the tree, neither was common, someone had to have seen them before. Maybe they weren't looking. Maybe he was no longer important, maybe since he was a fugitive, he was better off dead.

Or maybe Peter got in trouble because of his escape from New York, maybe he got suspended, maybe he went to jail, maybe his phone fell into his toilet and so he had to get a new one and he never got any message. Maybe the booster didn't really work, maybe the message never got sent.

_Maybe I'll die here._

He began to wish he'd never called. That he'd never allowed himself to hope, so it would not be so painful now. He wished he could give up and feel peace, he wished he had left his life in order so he could die without regrets, but he hadn't. Though he'd always denied it, he had regrets. _So many regrets_. There were so many things he'd wanted to do and now he would never be able to do them. There were so many mistakes that he wanted to fix, but now he wouldn't get the chance.

* * *

Time flew by him in a daze. He fought with his urge to leave another message, a more desperate, more honest message, but he knew what something like that would do to Peter. It wasn't fair. It wasn't Peter's fault that he couldn't find the cave, Neal was sure of that. It would be cruel to leave him a last wish/farewell/dying message for him to listen to. Eventually, Peter would get to the cave, and whatever he found there would devastate him. Knowing that, Neal felt guilty about having asked so much of him. He'd already given him so, _so _much; he never should have asked for his rescue, he never should have asked him to do something when he was bound to fail.

_God, Peter, sometimes you're too good for your own good._

He did it anyway, in the end. He called again. He told himself there were things he needed to say, that he owed it to everyone he'd ever loved to say them, but deep down he knew the true reason why he did it. He was scared. He felt very, very alone, and the sound of Peter's voice in his recorded voicemail message gave him a strange sort of comfort. He wanted to feel like there was someone with him, even though it wasn't true. He wanted to pretend he was ready, pretend he had not really failed, that it was time, that this was bound to happen, eventually, to people like _him. _He also wanted to prepare Peter, because his last message had been deceiving in many ways and it would not be fair to make him believe it would all be all right when the truth was as far from it as it was possible.

He hung up the phone when he was done. Over the clicking, hissing sound of the oilbirds, a poor-me-one was calling somewhere in the surface, and its crying song, the wailing _BOU-bou-bou-bou-bou_ in descending pitches, it only worsened his after, the battery died, and his hope died with it.

WC-WC-WC-WC-WC-WC-WC-WC

Peter stared up at the tree in front of him, frozen. The grey-green buttress roots rose up from the ground like a building, and then the trunk narrowed and broke the thick canopy. From where he stood, he could not see its crown, but his imagination filled in the blanks. His hands were shaking, his breathing quick and ragged, and he felt dizzy with fear and anticipation. He might've taken longer to break out of it, but then Mozzie rested a hand on his arm.

"Let's do this," he said. Turning around, Peter could see Mozzie's face was pale, and he knew that he was even more afraid, but he was ready to go on. Peter breathed in deep, and walked with slow, determined steps to the tree. When Laura brushed past him, he jumped, startled. She stopped by a large fern growing with its roots clinging to those of the tree.

"This is the place," he whispered. Peter came to stand next to her, and he was surprised to see how small the opening actually was – he had imagined something way larger. He wanted to shout out Neal's name, but he was suddenly too afraid to do that. He wasn't sure he would even be able to talk with his voice straight. He wished El was with him.

He pushed the ferns away to reveal the hole at its widest, and found himself staring into a black abyss. The only sound he could hear was a low hum, it reminded him of boiling water.

"The light," he said, and Nico handed him the flashlight. Its beam lit up dust particles and the swift, batting wings of some strange birds, but it did not touch the ground. "Damn it, it's not powerful enough."

"Aren't you…" Laura started in a soft voice, but she hesitated. She cleared her throat to go on. "Aren't you going to call his name?"

Peter turned back to look at her with pain in his eyes, but he said nothing. He took one step closer to the fern, and then his feet touched something hard. He looked down, and picked it up. It was metal can with one side open, and attached to it was metal rod. When he lifted the whole thing, he noticed it was attached to a sort of rope that hung down into the cave.

"What is this?" he said. The rope came off when he pulled it back, but the metal can stayed in his hand. It was rusty and muddy.

"Let me see," said Nico, coming to his side. He took the rod and the can, and held it up straight so the rod pointed at the sky. "I think this was some sort of antennae."

Peter let out a breath he'd been holding in parts. If he hadn't been so nervous, so on edge, he would've laughed.

"That's how he left me those messages," he said in a whisper. Nico nodded.

"He's resourceful," he said.

"You have no idea."

"Peter," Mozzie interrupted. He was wringing the cloth of his shirt in front of him, and his forehead shone with sweat. His glasses were fogged. "_Please_."

Peter nodded. He went to the edge of the opening, and peered down. He took the biggest breath he could hold before shouting.

"NEAL!"

_Neal! Neal! Neal! _

The echoes came and stopped. They waited in nerve-wrecking silence. When next he looked up, Peter saw Mozzie had sat down, his face was blank, empty. Though she made no sound, tears were streaming down from Laura's eyes. Peter shook his head.

"No."

He shouted again, and again.

"Neal! It's Peter! Can you hear me? NEAL! NEAL!"

His voice broke. Nico, the only one still composed, pulled him back when he got too close to the hole. Peter pushed him away and shouted one more time, but Nico did not back off, and he half dragged Peter away from the tree.

"Don't—" Peter pleaded, but then Nico dropped a loop of thick rope over his head. Peter stared at it, and for a moment he couldn't understand. "What…?"

"The birds are too loud. He can't hear you," said Nico, and he brought the other end of the long rope to the nearest tree. "I will lower you down."

Peter grabbed the rope as if his life depended on it, even though he was still standing in firm ground. He looked up at Nico.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he said. "Have you ever rappelled before?"

"I'm a White Collar FBI agent," said Peter. Strength was back in his voice. "The bad guys I chase are double-dealing accountants and insider traders."

"How about cave-diving art thieves?"

Peter smiled sadly, and went to the edge.

"I'm ready."

Nico had Mozzie and Laura hold on to the rope as well. Peter thought then that it would've probably worked best if he stayed at the top and they lowered Laura instead, since she was the lightest, but this was something he had to do himself. He would later worry about getting out.

"Sit on the loop, and hold on to the rope. It'll feel like you're falling at first but then it'll tighten. Do you have the light?"

"Yeah."

Peter sat at the edge, and then slowly let his legs fall into the black hole. Once he was at ground's level a smell of rot hit him like a wave, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

"Are you all right?" Nico asked. He was the only one watching him now. Laura had sat down against the _Gold River_ sign and she was holding the copper wire bull figurine in her shaking hands. Mozzie seemed removed from the world, staring at nothing, hardly even acknowledging the fact that Peter was half underground now. Despite his own anxiousness and fear, Peter felt bad for him. He didn't really know Mozzie that well, but he had a feeling that he didn't have a lot of people he cared about in the world, other than Neal.

"I'm fine. Lower me down," he said. He took a gulping breath of fresh air, and then he was descended into complete darkness. It was like entering another world.

WC-WC-WC-WC-WC-WC-WC-WC

* * *

It was a dream. He knew it because it made no sense, like a book written by a madman, and yet he was also sure that it was not the end, that it was not heaven, because he still felt pain. It was like he was lost, and though he tried, he could not remember the last time he'd been awake – the dream had taken over. It was real, now, and everything else was just a shadow or a fantasy. How long had it been? An instant, or an eternity. His last thoughts were fading, and short sentences floated away like wisps of smoke.

_He won't come. He won't find me. _

_I will die here. _

He tried to fight it. Above his head, he saw the arched tunnel of an aquarium, just like the one he and Kate had enjoyed visiting before his running had started, before prison, before everything had gone to hell. She had liked it because it was so quiet, because the fish swam above you, so peaceful, so close, because the place had looked like a glass cathedral and she had always told Neal that in its own way it was a work of art, just as nature was a work of art. Only now he understood.

This arched tunnel he was seeing was not beautiful, though. It was bizarre. Finless sharks swam above his head, over his eyes, giant river monsters brushed the glass, and he thought, it cannot be. Sharks drown if they can't swim, he knew that much, so how could they swim now, without fins? These were alive. And they moved. He tried to conjure up images of reality, pictures of real sharks so he could know that this wasn't real, but it didn't work. He was left in the dream, thinking nothing was real anyway, and the dream took hold. It suddenly didn't seem strange at all. It all made sense. Maybe it wasn't a dream.

_No! It's a dream! _

The water tunnel became dark again, for it had been dark once before, and with that change the air became heavier and damp. A white crack formed in the glass just above his head. He thought, for a moment, that he had escaped his dreams, but ah, it wasn't so. A shiny fish swam in the darkness now, as the crack widened and drops of salt water fell on his forehead. This fish was quick, it bolted from wall to wall, but it didn't seem odd to him. He knew that the fish was real, the way you know in dreams. _You just do._

But this bright round fish, it was different. With it came a sound louder than the constant clicks of the birds, that had now escalated to a reverberating hum akin to that of a giant beehive. He heard voices then, oddly logical voices, and things cannot be odd in a dream, can they? Even if they are also logical.

He tried to follow the fish with his eyes and now it didn't really look much like a fish, though he still thought it was beautiful. He thought that he'd never before seen something so beautiful, so bright… If he could only just catch it, it would all be clear, it would all make sense…

_It can't be! Stop!_

Everything went black with a sound like a giant's clap, like a wooden door falling on cement. He understood what was happening and he felt his weight on the wet mud again, his heart thumping against his chest, the painful itchiness of his skin.

_Wake up! Wake up! _

He followed the voices, which had followed him through his dream. The light had followed too, and for a second he felt it shining painfully over his eyes. Once voice sounded louder than the rest. He knew that voice. It was calling for him.

He blinked and saw the light. A shadow stood behind it and for a moment he allowed himself to hope, but then he recognised the antique lamp, and he shivered. He turned his head away and covered his ears with his hands to try and shut out the noise, but it didn't work. The voice went on. He felt like it was teasing him, inviting him to answer, but he wasn't going to do that. He wasn't going to fall for it again.

"Neal! Where are you!?"

_You! You! You!_

Branches cracked as the shadow came forwards. It held its lamp high but it was not so powerful as to light the whole cave, so it looked as though it was floating in the middle of it. It came close to the birds, and they took flight, swarming for the opening.

"Christ!"

A second, unknown voice called from above. The shadow answered.

"I can't find him!"

It was a desperate cry, filled with emotion. Neal remained still, following the light with his eyes. He could not have moved, even if he'd wanted to. The boulder shielded most of his body to the light but still his eyes could see it. It looked even more beautiful than the first demon's wavering yellow candle. He almost wanted to reach for it. Maybe, if he was quick enough, he could take it for his own. He could see at last. He never should have let the fire die…

"_Neal!_"

_Neal! Neal! Neal!_

The walls were calling for him, now, too.

WC-WC-WC-WC-WC-WC-WC-WC

Peter stared at the black mud where his boots had sunk, and he had to fight really hard to keep the nausea at bay. It smelled of standing water, of filth and rot and decomposing dead things. There were clear signs that Neal had been there, the phone was there, and so were tied up pieces of wood – he'd tried to build something. But he couldn't see Neal. His mind was praying on a loop, over and over again, _please let me find him alive_, but he could not help it but remember Collin's words. _You'll probably find nothing but bones._ What if he was standing right on top of them, only he couldn't see? What if some wild beast forgotten by evolution lived in that cave? What if he never found him, what if he never knew?

He searched methodically, starting at the corners. He wished he had a more powerful light, it would certainly save him all this trouble, it would save him from having to face his worst fears from just a hand's distance away. A safe distance always provided a measure of composure.

_Breath in. Breath out. _

He took another step, and came to stand next to a boulder. Beneath it lay the remains of a fire. Behind it, he saw a rubber shoe.

He jumped back. His chest ached as though his heart had stopped and he held his breath. Then he burst forwards and shone his light and saw him half-sitting with his back against the boulder, his legs stretched out in front of him, his head slumped forward. At last.

"Neal. Oh God. Oh God." His voice was breathy and shaking, and he rounded up the rock and came next to him, he touched his shoulder and he felt him flinch. He lifted his head and saw that his eyes were open. He felt as though the weight of the world had left him. "You're alive, Oh, thank God…"

"Suit! What's going on!" Mozzie's voice called from above and he sounded like he'd come back from the dead, but Peter could not reply. He went down on his knees beside Neal, holding both his shoulders – they felt bony.

"Neal? Can you hear me? I'm taking you out. It's over. Can you hear me?"

Peter brought the light closer to his own face, and Neal's eyes suddenly widened, but not in recognition. In _fear_. He pushed himself back and slid from the rock away from Peter – his arms moved but his legs didn't.

"Neal? Neal, it's all right."

"Get away."

The voice surprised Peter. It was little more than a croak, but it was clear. Neal looked like hell, behind the mud his skin was pale, almost translucent, his lips were blistered, he looked consumed, but there was no doubt in his eyes, no glaze of fever. He didn't look disoriented, he was staring straight at him.

"Suit!" Mozzie begged for information from above, but Neal seemed not to hear over the humming of the birds. Peter stretched a hand towards him, but Neal swatted it away with a feeble movement.

"Don't touch me!"

"Neal…!"

"Get _away_ from me."

_Me! Me! Me!_

"Neal, look at me. It's me, Peter. Trust me. It's me."

"No." He started blinking, several times, as if he expected Peter to disappear. When he didn't, he covered his eyes with his hands. "Stop. I can't take this. I won't… fall for it again."

"Neal, you're not falling for anything, it's me, for God's sake. Look at me!" Peter pulled Neal's hands off his face and he offered little resistance. He let the light shine between them so it was perfectly clear. "Do you see?"

Neal swallowed. His head fell against the rock, as if he'd lost strength, but when Peter tried to help him up he moved back again, resisting.

"No! No. Take off your right boot!" he yelled, with a surprising power in his voice. It echoed. Peter shook his head, felling a dead weight of dread in his throat. _Too late. It's still too late. _

"What?"

"Take off your right boot, take it off!"

_Off! Off! Off!_

"Neal, I don't—"

"Take it off! Take…" his voice broke, he started wheezing. "Please, let it be real… Take it off, show me… Show me your right leg."

"Why do you want to see my right leg?" Peter asked, thoroughly confused and distraught that Neal would not let him get close. Then Laura's voice called from the opening.

"Peter, just do it."

Peter gulped, and bent down to pull off his boot. He placed his foot on the boulder and Neal wrapped his hands around his ankle – then, with a sigh, released it. He sagged back.

"Oh, God…" he said, the frantic despair gone from his voice. Peter leaned in closer, and touched his shoulder again. This time he did not flinch or pull away.

"Neal? It's me, Peter."

Neal opened his eyes wide again. A small, cracked smile appeared on his lips for a second.

"I know," he said. "I know."

* * *

**A/N: So? Can you breathe now? You've got to admit, I've been super quick to complete this chapter, I couldn't bear to leave you hanging for so long. So what did you think? There will be more soon, but we're on the last few chapters now, not a lot to go though the excitement is not over. Thank you for reading, and please let me know your thoughts. They mean the world to me. Last chapter you all reviewed so quickly, I woke up to five reviews in my email and I was overjoyed, thank you so much for that - now I've got to set some time to reply. I've got to study now. Until next time! **


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: So late, I'm sorry! I'm done with exams now (did good, thank you) but I've tangled myself up with this story and I need some time and some rewriting to sort it. This is just a teaser so as not to keep you waiting too long, but I promise I'll make it up to you! I hope you'll like this, short as it is, and thank you so much for reading and reviewing.**

* * *

_"Neal? It's me, Peter."_

_Neal opened his eyes wide again. A small, cracked smile appeared on his lips for a second._

_"I know," he said. "I know."_

14.

Nico, Laura and Mozzie could only hoist one at a time, and to Peter it seemed to take them forever to bring Neal to the top. Then the rope was dropped down again, but there was silence from above as he got the loop over his own arms. It made him anxious – the fear was still there, it could not go away in a second just because he'd found him, that was not the way it worked. The fact that he was now alone in a dark cave made things worse. It was so damp, and the smell was so strong. He could not imagine having to spend a single night there.

_How the hell did he last so long?_

The rope tightened, but he didn't move from the ground.

"Hey? Are you pulling?" he called, looking up.

"Pulling…" Nico called back with a strained voice.

"Well, pull harder!"

"You're heavy!"

"Well, there's three of you! How—How is Neal?"

There was no reply. Peter slowly got lifted off the ground, and then up to the opening. It felt like forever, but when he finally came up into the light he was more at ease. He reached out for the branches while waiting to have a proper hold, and he was almost there, when the rope went slack.

"No!" He gasped, and reached to either side and clutched at the thickest branches, slipping down a foot before he managed to stop his fall. He heaved himself up the rest of the way with great effort, kicking the air with his legs, and he saw his companions just getting up from the ground, wiping the mud off their clothes. "What the hell?" he shouted between breaths. "You almost dropped me! Where's—"

He stopped dead. There was a fourth man now, with shaggy black hair, a thick days-old beard, and one shining golden eye. He stood by the Gold River sign. A handgun only just protruded from his loose shirt sleeve, and it pointed down, aimed at where Neal still lay on the ground, apparently unaware.

"Stay still, all of you," the man said, with a fading but still noticeable southern accent. Peter didn't move. "That's good. Now, that shotgun there, I'm going to free you of it. Toss it back to me, slowly."

Peter reached for Nico's rifle lying on the leaf-littered ground, and did what he was told without a word. Then he stood very still, focused on Neal's shaking form. He saw the moment in which his eyes widened, as he recognised the sudden danger he was in, but he looked like he didn't have the strength to move away. His hands flailed and went to his face, then he was still again. He looked terrible, he looked... dead. Only the shallow rising and falling of his chest told him otherwise.

"I won't move. I will let you leave, just let us go," he pleaded. The man just laughed.

"I know you're a cop," he said. He kept casting sideway glances at Laura. "Or some sort of… official… Do you know who I am?"

"Yes," said Peter. "I know of you." The man scoffed, his mouth twisting in a strange smile. Peter went on. "What I don't know, is why you've come back here. You could've disappeared by now."

"I forgot something," he said. The gun shook in his hand, so bad Peter was afraid his finger might slip at any moment and accidentally pull the trigger. There was no confidence in the man's voice. Though he appeared calm, Peter was sure that he was just as afraid as he was. His golden eye rested on Laura again, this time for more than just a second.

"Let him go, Robbie," said Peter, and the man winced at that name, as if it had caused him physical pain. "Let him go, and we can forget about all this."

"You're a man of the law, you people never forget."

"I will now."

"No." Rob shook his head. Sweat formed like beads on his skin. "No, you won't."

"All right then, what do you want? What did you come here for?"

Rob turned to Laura. "A horse," he said. "A gold filigree horse, with a young girl riding it. It wasn't in the house."

Laura glared as a response, and then straightened her lips. She was shaking a little, too, but she kept it at bay. There was nothing left of that uncontrolled grief Peter had seen in the veranda of her house.

"It was a gift," she said.

"Yes. And now I take it back. Where is it?"

"It's not yours to take back."

Rob gritted his teeth in rage and frustration. Then he trembled in shock as Neal suddenly spoke. His voice, though strained and wheezy, carried clear.

"Don't give it to him, Laura. It's too beautiful."

Rob cackled – it was a strange sound, shrill, desperate.

"So you are alive. I was beginning to think otherwise. You lucky, lucky fool."

"You can go to hell."

A shot echoed in the trees near where they stood and they all looked up, puzzled, though Rob seemed especially concerned – his gun remained still, he had not fired. When another shot sounded, he looked scared out of his mind, and he cursed under his breath and let his gun point to the ground.

"What was that?" he asked, his lower lip trembling. Peter wanted to go to Neal, but he raised his palms when the two barrels were pointed at him and he stopped his advance.

"We don't know. We have nothing to do with that."

"You're lying. Who did you call?"

"We didn't call anyone…"

"Is it the military?" he looked around, anxious, afraid. He felt cornered. And Peter knew men did crazy things when they were cornered.

"The horse is in the River House, in the floorboards under Neal's blackboard painting." Laura spoke in a firm voice, and Rob's smirk turned into a thin line – then, within a second, he was gone into the bushes.

WC-WC-WC-WC-WC-WC-WC

Neal felt gritty dirt underneath his right cheek, and he tried to lift his head but found that he couldn't. He didn't really feel a lot of pain, other than the constant ache from his leg; it was more of a numb, itching feeling. The voices were muddled because the clicking of the birds was ingrained in his mind and he was still hearing it, even though he wasn't. He felt at ease now, and he wished he could just blink and be back in his bed in New York, warm, dry, clean, freshly shaven, with the smell of mint in his mouth.

"Neal. Oh my God." Peter turned him on his back and his head hovered over him. A bottle of water was rested on his mouth, and sweet, delicious liquid flowed down his throat, and then on his sore skin. He coughed, softly, only because it wasn't comfortable to drink while lying down, but it seemed to make Peter frown. "Neal? Can you hear me?"

_Loud and clear_.

"Neal?" Peter's voice became louder. "Mozzie," he called. When nothing happened he turned back. "Mozzie, for God's sake! Don't just stand there! Bring me the first aid kit."

There were shuffling steps, and something dropped on the ground. More water was left to run over him. Near his legs, someone was swatting at his pants. Every time the hand touched his injured leg he felt as though needles were being driven into his bones.

"Stop," he croaked. Peter heard him, and turned back.

"Mozzie, what are you doing?"

"Ants. Suit, they are _everywhere_, I…"

"We'll deal with that later. Nico! Lay down the sheet, we'll take him back to the car."

"Did she tell him?" Neal asked. Suddenly it felt so important that he should know. It was such a beautiful piece, made with love and fascination by a once talented man who was nothing but a shell now. It could not end up in Rob's hands again. If it did, he would never see it again. It would be lost to the world. "Did she… tell him where the horse was?"

"Yes, she told him," said Peter, turning back briefly to where he assumed Laura was standing, and then lifting him for a second to slide a white bed sheet underneath him. "But that doesn't matter now. You're all right. It's all fine."

Neal couldn't help it but smile.

"That's what the other one said…"

"Other one?"

"The other you…"

"Neal… Just lie back, okay? Trust me." Peter gathered the top edges of the sheet, while a tall stranger gathered those at the bottom. They lifted him from the ground, and all he could see now was two walls of white on either side of his face.

"The other one said that also…" He paused, and his eyes veered to the left. "Peter."

"Yes, Neal?"

"You're real, right?"

"Of course I am."

Neal let out a soft, breathy chuckle. "Took you long enough."

WC-WC-WC-WC-WC-WC-WC

Neal closed his eyes. Peter wasn't sure if he should smile or feel guilty about his last comment, but before he could decide another shot rang out, this time much closer. He knew it was the same as the first, made by a shot gun, and that it was not Rob, since all Rob had was a pistol and Nico's airgun.

"Faster. Faster. How long to the car?" he asked Laura. She shook her head.

"The same it took us to get here, possibly more."

"Are there usually people around these woods? Dangerous people?"

"No! Not… Not when Rob was here."

"Who can it possibly be?"

Then a voice broke out, a grave but loud yell, and the birds nearby flew from their perches.

"Is there anybody out there!"

Despite the desperate streak in it, Peter recognised it.

"Lost, Agent Collins?" he called back, with a smile.

* * *

**Here it is! Short, but there will be more soon! Please review, and I'll be hard at work pressing at the keyboard all to get you the next part! Thanks for reading! **


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Been a while, I know. This story was finished when I started posting, but it's not finished anymore. It's not 30k long either now. These things happen when rewriting, things change, and bring about more change, and suddenly for things to make sense I need to rewrite entire chapters, which is what I've been doing. So forgive me. I'll try my best to deliver faster from now on, there's not that much left to go. Thanks for sticking with me.**

**I've got two chapters for you folk, I'm almost done with the next one now, and it will probably be the second to last. Because it's been so long though. I'll do a quick recap.**

**Previously on Gold River:**

**Peter and Mozzie rescue Neal from the cave with Laura's help, but Rob shows up, wanting to know where Laura hid the golden horse. She tells him, and he leaves, taking Nico's airgun with him. Then, as they are leaving, Collins crosses paths with them, having escaped from the closet Mozzie trapped him in, but apparently he got lost in the forest. **

**WC**

The leaves ruffled close to where Peter stood. Collins did not call out again, and no more shots were fired, but five minutes later he broke away from the dense forest and emerged into their trail, breathing heavily and his face pale as though he'd seen a ghost. It was clear to everyone that when he saw Peter, the smile that came to his face was as fake as they come.

"Agent Burke!" he said, still wheezy from exertion. Peter stiffened, and turned so that his body blocked the improvised gurney from view. Unaware of the tension of that moment, it was Nico who broke the silence.

"How on earth did you get here so fast? It took us hours."

Collins frowned, turning in a bulldog attitude. "Excuse me, who are you?"

"I-I'm-"

"What were you shooting at?" Peter asked, turning Collins attention away from the guide. The Agent suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Ah, just… I thought I… So you'd hear me, of course," he tried to hide behind a smile, but he wasn't very good at it.

"Did you get approached by an old friend with a goat's leg?" Mozzie asked, and Collins scoffed, but Peter thought he also paled slightly. Peter tensed, aware that all the others were waiting for him to do something, for him to keep on with the march, but he could not decide what to say, or if he should say anything, maybe he should just keep going. He half turned to meet Mozzie's eyes, to wordlessly ask him what to do, but then Neal's hoarse voice broke the silence.

"She's gone," he said, and was quiet. It took Peter a moment to his what he meant, and he swung around, searching among the bushes. Laura wasn't there anymore.

"She was… She was just beside me a minute ago!" said Nico. They all looked around, except for Collins, who had no interest in Laura. His eyes were instead fixed on the makeshift stretcher that Peter and Nico still carried between them, and that Peter shielded with his own body. He could only just make out the shape… He'd also heard the voice. And he started clapping.

"My, my, don't tell me!" he said, his face twisted in a mocking grin. They all stood still at the sound. "So! You did it, Agent Burke! You caught your man. Though I don't see it was much sport this time round, huh?"

Peter glared, and stepped forwards to keep on with their march, reminding himself of their urgency, but on his second step he stopped. He didn't know where he was going. Laura was their guide. Collins saw his distress, and laughed again.

"Well, aren't you in a hurry! Seems like you're gonna have to come back with me. Talking of which I have an arrest to make." He pulled out a set of handcuffs out of his pack, and strode towards the white sheet that he pulled back so he could see Neal's face. Peter stiffened, pulled back, and raised his free hand to stop him. Collins' teasing grin faded in an instant, and the bulldog face was back, his face contorted in anger.

"What the hell you think you're doing, Burke?" His voice sounded like he'd just spat.

"Those are not necessary."

"He's an escaped convict."

"Look at him, for God's sake, do you think he can run?"

"How _considerate_ of you, Agent Burke, but I don't care if he's in a goddamned coma, he'll be cuffed. Right up until I deliver him to the state prison he belongs in." Collins tried again to push past Peter, this time with his weight behind his shoulder to ram something down if necessary, but Peter was bigger and he held him down, his fist clenched. Seeing it, Collins let out a bitter chuckle. "What are you going to do? Punch me again? You do that. Go right ahead. I'll be more than glad to see you working on Evidence Storage for the rest of your miserable life."

"Listen, Collins," Peter had to take a deep breath to steady his voice. "He needs medical attention, and we need to leave. You want to cuff him? Fine. But before you start threatening to have me demoted you might want to consider your own position. I might be here unsanctioned, but believe me when I tell you, my boss trusts me. He'll believe me when I tell him you've pulled your gun at innocent bystanders, that you've threatened civilians, that you've basically kidnapped civilians, because I doubt Laura got in with you of her own free will." Peter exchanged a glance with Mozzie, who butted in.

"You've broken several local laws, too, as I see it. Driving a military vehicle, damaging the flora of a protected natural area…." Mozzie adjusted his glasses and faced Collins. "According to the criminal code, that's 2 to 4 years effective prison…"

"What on earth, Burke…? Who the hell is he?"

"I happen to be Mr. Caffrey's lawyer," said Mozzie. "And I'm well versed on the local law. I'm being perfectly serious. These are criminal offenses here, and Mr. Vogt whom you threatened and whose daughter you kidnapped—"

"I didn't kidnap—"

"He's buddies with the town prosecutor. Do you have a visa? Did this government authorise your entry? Do you have a valid local gun permit? I doubt it. Justice system here, as I understand it, has it backwards. Guilty until proven innocent. You could be sharing a crowded cell for years before Uncle Sam manages to get his paperwork sorted to pry you out."

Collins faced Peter.

"You bastard."

Peter stepped forwards, and raised his eyebrows. "None of that is going to happen, Collins. Because I'm going to give you an out."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Because I'm _considerate_ like that." Peter smiled his most charming smile, and cast a sideways glance at Neal in the blanket. He had his eyes closed but Peter knew he was listening. For a second he even thought he might be smiling too. He went on. "There's a man who mines gold in a river close by, I've been told he has an illegal dredge. He's American. Texan to be precise, and he's been hiding out here for more than ten years. Former US Army, he was a geologist and a sapper. He has only one eye. Ring a bell?"

Collins frowned, but then his eyes widened, his forehead suddenly free of wrinkles.

"Robbie Berg? You can't possibly expect me to believe that."

"Well, believe it. Goldeneye himself pushed Neal inside that cave. He's the Rob Laura told you about. I've seen him, Collins. It's him."

"But… But he's supposed to be dead. His plane crashed in the Amazon—"

"That's right. It did. Only he didn't die. He was on the Most Wanted list for years. Do you understand how important a score that would be for your career?

"Imagine the press conferences," Mozzie added. "The interviews, you could even write a book. _Catching Goldeneye. _ Doesn't that have a ring to it?"

"Would definitely be a bestseller," Peter added.

Collins gritted his teeth, and the muscles of his neck stood out, but he swallowed hard and relented.

"Where is he?" he asked.

"As we speak, he's on his way back to the farm, looking to steal a solid gold horse figurine."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

Peter smiled, not minding if Collins saw, and beside him Mozzie winked, and lifted his hat holding it by the front rim.

"_Chapeau_, Suit. Respect," he said. Peter nodded.

"Likewise."

* * *

Collins had reached the Gold River by way of a stolen dirt-bike, adding to his crimes, and by sheer luck, so he had even less of an idea how to get back than Peter and Mozzie did. For a while Nico succeeded in tracking their footprints back the way they had come from, but when the rain started again the mud turned into a shapeless slush, and they could hardly walk without sinking down to the edges of their boots. Carrying Neal made them even slower.

Peter went back to Rob's old house on stilts by the river, and he stopped there. There was a balcony with roof and shade, and there he let the blanket he'd been holding down until Neal was resting on the hardwood, letting Nico go down on his own. Now the rain had washed Neal down some, so Peter could see his skin now, and not the hardened black mud that still stuck to the bottom of his boots from the cave. He couldn't see any blood, and that calmed him, but one look at his leg and he knew that was the problem. Even under his pants, he could see it wasn't straight like it was supposed to be.

"Stop." Neal's voice sounded like a croak, and it made Peter start. Down below Mozzie was with the others trying to find the trail back, and he did not hear.

"What?"

"Stop… staring. It's making me… nervous."

Peter couldn't help it but chuckled, and he looked up at Neal's face. His eyes were opened but just barely. There was a hint of a smile in his cracked lips, this time Peter was sure it was real.

"I didn't know you were… I thought you…"

"I'm here…. Perfectly aware. You know… You know Rob? How?"

"You heard that? Well… I don't know him," said Peter. "I know of him. His case was on every newspaper and TV screen around the time I first started working for the FBI. I'm surprised you didn't know. It must've been around the time you were doing mischief in Europe."

"Who is he?"

"He's a murderer, Neal. He was an army engineer, a sapper. In charge of blowing things up. He was deployed in Africa, where he and his company were supposed to release a hostage held by a local dissident chief. This chief was rich, he had a dining set for fifty guests, plates, cutlery, cups, everything in solid gold. The entire stronghold blew up, Robbie was the only survivor, he lost his eye and then went missing from the army hospital shortly after. Later they found evidence that it had been a bomb made with army issue sapper explosives and riggings that had caused the explosion, and that the dining set was unaccounted for."

"He… He blew them all up?" Neal asked. His voice was weak but his eyes were wide open now. Peter nodded.

"He was good with bombs, good with wires and riggings. A joint force chased him for over a year, and when they came close he left gifts. I think more than a dozen agents died from those gifts. The FBI nicknamed him Goldeneye, and I guess the media caught on."

"Goldeneye… You have a thing for James Bond, don't you?"

Peter chuckled. "I didn't choose this one. I was a lowly agent then, but I followed the case. It was fascinating, he led them on a merry chase across the world, dropping bombs like Christmas presents, and then finished it with a bang above the rainforest. His plane exploded. No one thought it was possible he could have survived, but… Obviously he did."

Neal nodded, and brought up his hands to rub slowly at his eyes. Peter winced when he saw the bones standing out clearly in his wrists, and he brought up the bottle of Oral Re-hydration Solution that Mozzie had mixed.

"Drink," he said.

"I'll be fine," said Neal. "Just… need rest. Food. And my leg… I'd love a steak. Sirloin. With baked huayro fries... caramelised carrots... rice with Spätzle..."

"Just drink, will you? You eat all that now and you'll be sick. And what the hell is Shpetzle?"

"It's Spätzle, with an a and an umlaut... A German pasta... They made it at Mr. Vogt's place, so good... I've had dreams of Spätzle..."

Peter looked down. He counted the days it had been since the last time Neal had eaten anything. He knew that the upbeat tone of his voice was forced.

"God, Neal, that cave. I just can't… I would've never…"

"Scary, huh?"

"I don't understand how you can be so calm." Peter sighed. There was Neal, right in front of him, looking like a half-dead prisoner of war, and still he managed to smile now, before he spoke in the same hoarse, laboured way.

"I am out now. The cave. I wasn't scared. Right up until the last days, I… I wasn't scared. It was only right at the end… When I started to lose it."

"You thought I wouldn't come."

"I always knew you'd come…"

"I don't think I believe you."

Peter stared at him, stared at his mud covered face trying to sound bright, trying to get some cheer or maybe carelessness in his voice. Trying too hard. Neal was exhausted, that was obvious. How long had it been? Ten days, or more? Without food. Without safe drinking water. Without light or ventilation, with unimaginable filth, and with a broken leg. Peter knew it had to be a great effort for him even to stay awake, so the fact that he was wasting precious energy in putting that face… it broke his heart a little.

"You thought I wouldn't come, didn't you? You don't have to lie to me. I'm not accusing you of anything, I just want to know," he said. Neal turned, and rested a hand on his face.

"I knew you'd come _here,"_ he said. His voice was graver now, more serious. "But I didn't believe you would ever find the cave. And that drove me… I was lost. I knew you'd try... I hated myself for leaving you a message... because there was hope there… that I didn't feel. I knew you would not stop looking. I felt like I had just ruined your life... That's why I sent the second message."

"I heard it," Peter said, nodding. "It was… a little tactless. You weren't exactly thinking about my cardiovascular health."

Neal smiled. "I'm sorry. Do you think…? Can we call it even?"

"Even? On the contrary, you owe me. Big time."

"Doesn't bringing to your notice… someone on the most wanted list… count for something?"

"It counts, but doesn't make us even. Don't worry, though. I'll be thinking of ways to level us out."

"Just as long as it doesn't involve stake-outs…"

* * *

Down below Nico was ruffling through the leaves and mulch littering the ground, searching for tracks, and Collins was standing beside him, calling incessantly for the guide to hurry up. Peter felt bad for Nico, he was just a kid really and he seemed terrified of Collins, but he kept searching, not minding the agent's worsening humour. Peter realised he was going to have to pay him a big dollop for all he'd done, and was mentally calculating his rate when a crash and a roar made him turn, and turning he saw the trees shuddering and falling far off to the right.

"What is that?!" Collins shouted, alarmed. Peter leaned closer to the railing of the balcony, squinting his eyes to try and look through the dense foliage. He'd just caught a glimpse of metal shining when the monster truck ran over the young trees by the edge of the clearing and crashed into the nearest stilt of the house, shaking it violently. He came down, supporting Neal's weight with his arm pulled over his shoulders, and he approached the truck just as the door opened. Laura jumped out.

"Are you out of your mind?" Peter asked her. She frowned, puzzled.

"I thought you said crazy driving was excused under the circumstances… The agent was stalling, I thought it'd be quicker if I just got the truck here."

"I thought we couldn't damage the trees…" said Mozzie. Laura shrugged.

"It's a shame about the trees, but they'll grow back." She looked at Peter. "We should go. Get him in the back."

Peter nodded, and started rounding up the truck but before stepping inside, he stopped, and turned to Laura. "Why are you doing this? Why the change of heart? You could've just left and gone to stop Rob on your own, it would've been quicker."

She seemed to think about it for a moment. Peter thought she was going to say she was guilty, but unlike the way she had looked when Collins was interrogating her, there was no guilt in her eyes.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe I wasn't thinking straight."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Thought I'd end this in a high note, put all the angst behind for a moment. Next there will be action. Don't worry, I'll post the next chapter this weekend. Might be the last, might be an epilogue later, haven't decided whether to join them or not. I'd love it if you reviewed! I know I've taken a while but I'd like to hear from you if you're still out there! Haven't received FanFic mail in such a long time, I miss you all, invisible or not! So go ahead, use the box below, make my day, and with luck I'll be with you again tomorrow (maybe I can even be persuaded to post today). **


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I'm back! I've already made you wait for so long, I wanted to update quick, though I didn't get through the whole thing as I'd planned to, still trying to tie all the knots well enough. Expect another final chapter soon. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, hope you'll leave a comment for this one too, I'll try and send out my replies tomorrow. (Whoops forgot my line breaks, they're up now)**

They heard two quick shots when they broke through the forest and into the grazing fields of the farm. It wasn't easy to listen over the roar of the Unimog's engine, but Peter would've recognised the popping sound of gunfire anywhere. He shivered, thinking about what it could mean. Maybe Rob came into the house guns blazing, maybe Mr. Vogt was there or some of his family or workers, maybe they got caught in the crossfire. Maybe this would turn into an international affair, and then he would most definitely be out of a job, Neal would end up in jail and possibly Mozzie, Nico and Laura would follow. Maybe he would too.

"How did he get here so fast?" he thought out loud, and then turned. "Come to think of it, how does everyone else here moves so fast? It took me two days just to get here from the town…"

"We took five days to get to town from the river," said Laura, "but we were in an ordinary truck. Distances are short but roads are almost non-existent. The fastest way to move is by foot, if you know the way. And Rob knows this forest like no other," said Laura.

Peter sat next to a window, Mozzie on the other, and between them they kept Neal upright in the middle. Laura drove without using the brakes, and when she tore through an irrigation ditch and the truck lurched, Peter felt Neal tense. He knew it was his leg that was bothering him most, but it was hard to see if there was anything else wrong, what with the sticky dark mud covering his skin and the fake smile on his face.

"Water? Do you need water?" Mozzie asked him, sounding nervous. It was obvious to Peter that he was uncomfortable, he didn't know what to do. Neal turned slowly.

"I'd love a shower," he said. "All my treasure for a shower…" His head slowly bent forwards till his chin rested on his chest.

Collins, who sat on the front seat, turned towards Peter as they neared the house. There was no activity there to be seen.

"I'm not going back to New York empty handed, Burke," he said. "Whether it's Goldeneye or Caffrey, I'm taking someone with me on cuffs. Remember that."

"You'll get Goldeneye. I promise you," said Peter, and hoped to God that he would keep that promise.

A metallic clang made Peter stare down instead of ahead in the truck, and he saw quite clearly as a large black object adhered itself to the mudguards of the back tyre. He did not have to think twice to know what it was.

"Stop! Stop the truck!" His voice was so urgent that there were no second guesses. Laura braked so violently that they were all thrown forwards, faces crashing against the seats in front.

"What is it?" Mozzie asked. Peter opened his door and pulled Neal out with him as he answered.

"Something just stuck to the bottom of the truck, I think it's an IED. All of you get out now!"

Mozzie shook his head.

"What do you mean something's stuck—"

Peter cut him short and grabbed his shirt, hauling him out of the truck. Collins and Laura followed suit, and they all staggered and ran over the sinking wet grass. Peter felt his heart pounding and his shoulders burning where he supported Neal's weight, but he didn't stop. He counted a minute, and waited. Nothing. He eased his pace and turned back. Everyone else had now ran ahead of him and had stopped now twenty metres in front, where they stood and turned back with their clothes speckled with red mud. Peter turned too. The truck stood idle, the engine still running, less than two hundred metres away from the house.

"What the hell… was that about?" asked Neal, out of breath despite the fact that he was hanging on to Peter and had not moved on his own. Peter had to take a second to answer him — he still felt his own heart thumping near his throat.

"Nothing, I…" He sighed, and turned to the others. "It looks like it was nothing! I thought it was a magnet b—"

Searing heat crashed into his back like a runaway train and he was flattened against the tall grass, the wet mud beneath providing momentary relief. He was hardly aware that he had let go of Neal, and only realised this when he heard a grunt and a gasp behind him. A piece of metal landed not three feet away from his face, and he forced himself to stand and take a big breath again. A strong smell of scorched hair filled his nostrils.

"Neal," he said. "Neal, you all right?"

There was another grunt.

"Define… 'all right'."

"Damn it, Neal, you don't do straight answers, do you?" said Peter. He stood on wobbly legs, blinking several times to get rid of the white spots in his vision, and then he helped Neal back up. It was harder this time, and he had to support most of the weight – Neal was hardly able to keep his legs from dragging. He lifted his head, and saw that the others were all already up and heading his way.

"Is anyone hurt?" he called.

"No," Mozzie told him. He was pale, but still he went to Peter's side to help.

"Hold him up a moment. I have to go to the house," said Peter. Once he was not carrying Neal's weight, his legs were steadier, and he started for the house. He stopped when he heard a chuckle. He turned, and saw Neal smiling.

"What?" He looked at Mozzie. He also appeared to be holding back a laugh. "What is it?"

"Your hair," said Neal. Peter ran his hand down the back of his head, and wrinkled bristled hair stuck to his skin and came off. He brushed it back. That was where the smell came. The blast had burned off the hair at the nape of his neck.

"You've got yourself a fine crew cut, Suit. Goes with your bomb-dodging skills."

Peter smirked. "Thank you Mozzie." He looked up at the others. "I'm going to secure the house. I don't see anyone there so maybe the shots came from Laura's place. You all stay back, you hear me? Collins, let's go in."

"Didn't you just say we all stay back?"

"I didn't mean you. The guy's armed, I need back-up."

"I don't see how that's my problem."

"There's a fugitive in there, that's your problem!"

"I came here to make an arrest, Burke, one. And I've got it. You want an exchange? Fine. But I'm not putting myself in a military-trained psycho's line of fire. You're alone in this."

* * *

Peter treaded slowly over the grass, his feet sinking up to his knees when he got to a depression in the ground. Behind him, the others were crouching low under a copse of bushes, watching him as he stood in wide open ground, completely exposed. He cursed Collins, but in truth, he didn't blame him. He had Neal, so there were no stakes for him. Fugitives were perfectly interchangeable. At least he'd given him his gun, which he stuffed on the back of his pants so it wasn't visible. He didn't want to shoot if it wasn't necessary.

He took a step and a nighthawk he hadn't seen took flight from right next to his shoe, and he almost screamed. He was so tense his muscles hurt, and secretly he would've wanted Nico or Laura to volunteer to come with him, he would've even taken Mozzie. It was quite strange. In New York, he'd done riskier things without so much as blinking, but here it felt real. Finding Neal so close to death had reminded him how close he'd been to a tragedy, to something that would've scarred him for the rest of his life. He thought of Elizabeth. He was a married man, what on earth was he thinking, doing this? But he had to. And he was sure she would understand.

A shadow passed by one of the second floor windows, and a hollow pop sounded a second before he felt a sting in his shoulder, and he threw himself down in shock. He heard screams behind him, terrified screams, and he raised his hand in the air for a second just to let them know he was alive. He expected more bullets to rain down on him, but none came. He turned, and rested a hand on his shoulder. There was but a speck of blood, a lead pellet stuck under his skin. He almost laughed.

"Birdshot!" he called out. "Just birdshot!" The screams behind him died off, and Nico's voice called out.

"He's using my airgun, the bastard!"

"How many shots has it got?" Peter called back.

"Just one! But remember he had a gun, too."

"Splendid."

He stood again, and this time he ran. He knew Rob was there now, he'd seen him on the second floor, and he wasn't going to give me the chance to get away. He knew he'd had a gun, but if he had used the airgun maybe he had ran out of bullets, after all he'd heard a few shots. He climbed the veranda in one long step and burst past the netted doors, to find the place wrecked. The floorboards had been shot to splinters, there were pocked holes in the walls – at least now he knew what he'd been shooting at - and Neal's blackboard painting lay smashed in the middle of the terrace as if by a sledgehammer. There was no golden filigree statue but a tiny copper wire figurine, a horse without a rider, stood at the edge of the table. Peter picked it up. The work was crude and rushed – not Rob's. She had left it here for him. Laura had lied.

"It's over, Rob!" he called out. His steps made the floor creek as he moved, but there was no other sound. "You've had a good run. Playing dead, that was a smart move, but you knew you couldn't hide forever. Come out now, and don't make this any harder for either of us."

Peter took a step up the stairs, and then Rob's voice boomed from above. It was mocking.

"You ain't got jurisdiction here. Only way you're taking me back is in a body bag so you can spare yourself the threats. You're not going to kill me."

"Is that right? You don't even know who I am."

A bitter laugh sounded so close it made Peter jump. The house was wooden. The walls were thin. "You're an FBI agent… who just flew halfway across the world on his own pocket to rescue an escaped criminal from his own stupid decisions. Are you a killer? You don't look like one to me."

"I don't need to kill you. I just need to get you on a plane." Peter stepped further up the staircase.

"I'm an explosives engineer, and I've staged a plane crash before. Do you really want me flying with you?"

"You'll fly in a government jet, and I'll go back in coach. I did come here on my own pocket," Peter smiled, "I can't afford your ticket I'm afraid. Though I'm sure you will be great company for agent Collins." He took two more steps up. This time they didn't creak as much. "I'm curious, how did you move from bomb making to filigree? They don't sound much alike."

"Actually Agent, they're quite similar. Both involve delicate work with wires. I've only changed from copper to gold."

Peter stepped twice. And then again.

"And I take it you've always liked gold."

"There are no wires like gold wires. You can make then as thin as a hair. Can you imagine that, Agent? Can you imagine shaping a thread like that? It's so soft, gold, when it's pure. The ring you bought your wife for your engagement, that's not gold. 'White gold', the jewellers call it, but that's a lie. It's nothing but a cheap nickel alloy. There's nothing quite like pure yellow gold."

"Actually," Peter took three final steps, and emerged into a screened deck. "I bought my wife a silver ring."

Rob swung around, his face perfectly still and serious, and he lifted the barrel of Nico's rifle just as Peter was reaching for his gun. He stopped halfway, and left it behind his shirt, staring at the airgun.

"What are you going to do with that? Club me over the head?"

Rob smiled. "I could do that. Where's your gun, Agent?"

"I don't need it yet."

"You don't have one, do you?"

Peter sighed. "It got confiscated at the airport. You would be surprised at airline security, nowadays. Nothing like what you used to know. Now put that down and let me cuff you, unless you're up for a fist fight."

Rob laughed. He dropped the air gun, slowly, and got to his feet with his hands in the air.

"Well, you got me," he said, with a chuckle, and just as Peter was thinking it had been too easy, Rob pulled out his own gun and a deafening shot sounded.

* * *

"What is going on?"

Lying on the ground, Neal could not see the house. Though he wanted desperately to sleep, he kept his eyes open and he listened closely, but Peter's sloshing steps faded in the distance until he could no longer hear them. He grew restless, and though he'd waited so long he started to think that no hour inside the cave had seemed to last as long as this past hour. He wanted to stand and run behind Peter, he wanted to be there beside him facing Rob, he wanted to put cuffs on the bastard himself but just staying awake was proving a challenge. He had imagined that the moment he got out of the cave, everything would be fine, that the filth would be gone, and the pain would fade, and that he would be able to make his own way back. Now, lying against the wet ground, when he blinked and for an instant it was dark, it was almost as if he was back there. The grass felt cold, the blades scratched his irritated skin and bugs still crawled around him. He just wanted it to end. He wanted to skip right to the moment when everything was solved, when he was clean and no longer felt like he wanted to pass out just so he wouldn't feel any more pain.

"Oh God!" he heard the guide cry out behind him, Laura screamed and Mozzie tensed and went deathly pale.

"What is it?" he asked. No one answered him. "Mozzie, what is going on?"

Mozzie looked at him with a face so distraught Neal feared the worst.

"The suit…"

"Peter? Where is Peter? What happened to him?"

"I think he was just-"

"He's up!" Laura called, with a relieved sigh. Then Peter's voice reached him.

"Birdshot! It was just birdshot!"

"What does he mean, birdshot?" Neal asked. "Is he being shot at?"

"Don't worry, that gun only had one shot. He's using my airgun, the bastard!" said Nico.

"How many shots has it got?" Peter called out.

"Just one! But remember he had a gun, too."

No one spoke until Peter was out of sight. Then as minutes went by and there came no sound, no shouting, no news, Neal began to grow restless. Despite his crippling exhaustion, he could not sleep, could not rest, but he could not stand either. He couldn't go with Peter, and that frustrated him to the verge of tears. Then they heard a gunshot.

"Mozzie, what's he doing? What's he doing?"

"He's getting Rob, Neal, remember? He got you out of the truck and then I helped you here." Mozzie's tone was also tired. Neal had a feeling he'd asked that question before.

"I don't… Rob's dangerous. He shouldn't…"

"He's not armed. The Suit knows what he's doing."

"No, he doesn't. He doesn't know Rob. Why didn't you go with him? And the other agent? Why didn't he go with Peter?" He raised his head and tried to sit up, but failed. He kept rubbing his eyes but the itchiness did not fade.

"Just… It'll be fine, Neal. Just take it easy."

"Take me to the house, Mozzie. I need to help him."

"Oh yeah, and what are you going to do? Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not being – God…" He grunted in frustration, and let his head hang. Mozzie shifted, and looked at the house. He took a big gulping breath and then stood up.

"I'll go in. I'll save the suit." Neal stared up at him, raising his eyebrows and opening his eyes wide. Mozzie clenched and unclenched his hands in anxiousness, and he took an unsure step away. "You doubt me? I can be badass. I have a banana knife."

"You don't have it here with you," said Neal.

"Well, the enemy doesn't know that. Now, I have to go, before I actually start thinking this through." He turned. Neal watched him go for a moment and then he disappeared from sigh.

"Be careful, Mozz."

"You're paying for my funeral!"

"Wait up," the guide ran behind Mozzie. "I'll go with you."

"Oh good. I'm not the only suicidal maniac out here."

* * *

Mozzie stopped a few metres away from the bushes where he could still make out Neal's huddled form, and Collins sitting a little apart. He turned his head to spot Laura, behind the bushes, but he realised then that she wasn't there.

"That girl has a habit of disappearing, doesn't she?" he muttered. Nico turned and looked around, surprised.

"Where is she?"

"Gone. That's what I just said. I swear to God, I think she's pulling the long con on us."

"The what?"

"Long con. It's a – never mind."

They stepped fully out of the cover of the bushes, and out into the field. Behind them, Collins laughed.

"You go on and get yourselves killed," said the agent. "Just wish I had popcorn."

"It's just one man, Badass Suit. Are you afraid?"

The agent scoffed, and looked away.

They heard low voices as they came in, and they stopped before going past the screened doors and into the living room. The floor around them was riddled with holes, hacked and splintered so they had to walk carefully to avoid sinking down to the wet space below the stilted house.

"This is the stupidest idea I've ever had," Mozzie whispered.

"We should go up now," said Nico.

"That Rob guy's going to have one look at us and burst out laughing."

"Hey, we're not that bad."

"Kid, I'm five foot eight and I used to wear a toupee."

Nico chuckled, then they both raced upstairs when they heard Peter's voice.

* * *

Peter had expected the gun. He flattened himself against the floor, landing so hard he was out of breath for a moment, but he managed to dodge the bullet, and after came the click of an empty gun. What he did not expect – and he really should have, Rob used to be a soldier after all – was the lunge that came after. He'd barely taken one gulp of precious air when a heavy weight landed on top of him and in a second he was pinned to the ground, and the cold metal head of a hammer softly pressed against his shoulder.

"Don't move, agent. I worked in construction as a kid, I'm good with this."

"Just… Tell me something." Peter said, and gasped. The weight was crushing, but he could not reach his gun. He knew Rob wasn't bluffing, but he needed to keep him talking. "I haven't seen your little horse thing but if Neal was impressed with it… you obviously got talent. Was it worth it?"

"What?"

"All this. What you did when you were a soldier. What you've done here. Was it worth it? Just for gold?"

"Gold? It wasn't because of gold. You people, you can never understand. I did what I had to do."

"You had to blow up over a hundred people? What, you were against military intervention, you're some sort of anarchist, that it? Or what? Just… I want to understand."

"That was all a long time ago."

"Then how about now? You and Laura. You loved her, didn't you? Maybe she changed you. She helped you. It hurt you when she said you were dead to her. And she lied to you, she's taken the horse. Hell, she's probably now taking your truck too, heading God knows where with all your gold."

Rob shook his head.

"Laura doesn't lie. She can't lie. It shows in her face."

"Well, then where's the horse?"

"You need to shut up."

"What will you do? I have back up coming. You can't run now. Even if you run today the search will never stop."

"No one will know I'm still alive."

"So you'll kill all of us then? You'll kill Laura?"

"She wouldn't tell."

"Oh yeah? Because she led us right to your little jungle house, to your river, and to your cave. She led us right to you."

"Shut up."

"She doesn't love you anymore, Robbie. In fact, I would not be surprised if she hates you. Maybe she's hated you for a long time, only she didn't know the difference."

Rob lifted the head of the hammer from Peter's skin just as Mozzie and Nico appeared at the doorframe, and for maybe half a second he looked up. It was enough. Peter arched his back, reached for his gun behind his shirt, and rested the muzzle on Rob's forehead.

"Stand back. Drop the hammer."

Rob remained still.

"Why don't you just shoot me? I know you want to."

"Oh, you have no idea," said Peter. "But unfortunately, I've made a trade that requires you to be alive to be tried before your peers in New York. Stand back now, or I'll be tempted to declare that trade null."

Rob chuckled, and did as he was told. The hammer clattered right next to Peter's face, but he did not let go of his gun. He stood up, shaking a little, and he took zipties from his pockets to tie around Rob's hands. Then he turned, and waved at Mozzie.

"See?" he said to Rob. "Told you I had back up."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you have enjoyed it, there will be more soon! Comments, reviews, there's a box below and if you'd like to use it even as a guest I'd be forever thankful. Reviews make me jump up with joy! Hope to see you all soon, thanks for sticking with me. Sorry there's not a lot of Neal in this one, I promise there will be a lot in the next one. **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I'm back! It didn't take me so long now. There's an epilogue coming soon after this chapter but this is basically it. I hope you all have enjoyed this, I certainly have. I want to thank all of you who've been reading, and especially those who have reviewed. To you constant reviewers, I've thought of you in every revision. I hope you're still out there and will grace me with one or two final reviews. I know it took me long to update, but I hope you haven't lost interest. This chapter is long, especially for you! Thank you all! **

* * *

Laura ran hard for almost an hour, and then she came to a sudden stop. She'd run in fear, but now, in the middle of the forest, that fear was gone. She'd been afraid of going to jail because of what she had done, and she wasn't going to let that happen. She had been afraid of Rob, afraid of seeing him escape, and also afraid of seeing him killed. Or captured. Afraid of never seeing him again, as sick as that sounded even to her. She knew who he was, now. Knew what he'd done, but she… Well, she was no saint either.

She had been afraid of Peter, and his accusing glare. She had been afraid, very afraid, of Neal, and what he might say. She didn't want him to hate her, to accuse her. She also didn't want him to forgive her. She didn't want to face him, or face her father or her brother or her nephew – all them now knew what she had done, and that she had been lying to them all these years, doing something they had always thought she was incapable of doing. Lying, because omissions were lies too.

She was afraid of all of that, but what she feared the most was living the rest of her life in fear and guilt, and totally alone.

She held now the beautiful golden horse in her hands. It was heavy, but she had carried it with her all the way from that spot by the canal where she used to leave Rob's money. She had hidden it there so Rob would never have it. She had thought it was precious to her but in that moment he hated it. She was standing by the edge of a deep, dark pool not far from the black she'd had Neal walk to what seemed like ages ago, and she thought of letting it sink there, so no one would find it. But she stared at it long and hard and realised she couldn't do it. She couldn't destroy it. It had been a gift back when everything was wonderful, when she believed in true love and happy endings. That Rob had been a murderer even then did not change that. That she had been thinking of betraying him long before the FBI agent came didn't change anything either.

She was the only who knew where Rob had stashed his treasures, the same place he had been driving so desperately towards the night she decided to call it quits. She had driven the Unimog back to get Peter not just because some strange sense of loyalty – they had treated her fairly, in any case – but because she had needed them to stop Rob, to give her cover. Now that she was almost there, almost at the very place she'd fantasized with, she realised there was no joy in stealing from Rob now, no joy in stealing at all, after what she had done. Everything had gone to hell.

She knelt at the place and left the horse on the leaf-littered ground, under the shadow of a rocky cliff. She stared at it for a moment, and then turned, and started walking back towards her house and her family. She realised she had never really understood shame before that moment.

* * *

He was seeing the finless shark again, and the tunnel of the aquarium with the crack in the highest part of the vault. It was jagged, and the only light came from that opening. Glass turned to stone, and the crack widened, it slowly became the opening of the cave, and he found it hard to breathe. Had it all been a dream? Had they all been demons? He was back inside now. Mud all over him, feeling wet and cold and uncomfortable, surrounded by insects he couldn't see. It was dark. And life… Life was so cruel. He had really believed it this time. Really believed he was out. That Peter was in fact Peter, that Mozzie was there, and maybe even Jones and Diana. Had they been there, too? He couldn't remember.

The opening began to grow smaller and smaller, and the darkness greater. The glass vault, that kept the water and the sharks above, started to crack again, and with one crashing blow it came down on top of him. Darkness was absolute, and he screamed.

"Whoa, whoa! Neal! It's fine! It's fine."

"I'm out?" He asked the question, gasping, his hands tightly holding what he was just realising was Peter's arm. He let go, and as his vision cleared he took in his surroundings. He was in his room, in the River House. He could hear raining outside and there was a wonderful smell of wet wood in the air. Mozzie was closest to him, Peter was to his side. Both of them answered him.

"Yes."

"It's fine, Neal. Everything's fine, just lie back down."

Not realising he was almost sitting up, he let his head rest on the pillow. He felt strange, for a moment he could not pinpoint the cause, and then he knew. It was soft, the pillow he was lying on. It smelled of talcum, so did the white sheets, and the mattress sunk under his weight. He felt _comfortable_.

"It's so… odd," he muttered, looking around him, touching the shirt he was wearing. "I'm clean."

"And doesn't it feel good?"

Neal smiled, then blushed when he realised he didn't remember washing up or changing, but he was too happy to care. He let his hands smooth over the sheets, and he looked down towards his leg. He didn't feel pain anymore, only a strange prickling feeling, as if it was larger than it was supposed to be, like his leg didn't belong to him. He moved around, taking it all in, but his eyes were heavy. He was groggy, and he realised that probably meant he'd been drugged. He was glad.

"You've got me on good stuff," he said, and smiled what he thought was probably a very silly smile. He remembered that time in the clinic when that nurse had shot him up with something strong. Everything had seemed so funny, and at the same time so perfectly clear. He laughed. It was good to laugh.

A clock above the door said it was past noon, and a warm ray of sunlight sneaked in through the netted window, but he didn't feel hot. He reckoned there had to be a rainbow outside and he wished he could see it, but it was good just knowing it was there. He breathed in deep, enjoying the smell of wood and something else – lemon maybe, or some other citric, and he thought he had not felt so good in a long, long time. Years maybe.

Mozzie was not in the room anymore, but Peter appeared under the doorframe.

"There's some soup for you. Vogt's son just went to town to get medicine, and Nico's tow-truck just came through, so… We can probably be on our way back to town the day after tomorrow."

"Rob?" he asked, and touched his throat. His voice still sounded a little hoarse.

"He's tied and locked in Mozzie's coffee liquor cellar, and Collins is guarding him. He won't escape."

"That's good." He didn't ask about Laura. He honestly did not want to know. "So it's back to New York then?"

"Yeah. Home sweet home."

"I'll miss this place. This house…" His eyes veered to the window and the frame of red mahogany around it. He wanted to be back in New York – God, how he had missed it – but at the same time, he had a feeling he would never see this house again. And that saddened him a little. It had been his for a while, really his. It was not like he was going to have the freedom or resources to take a vacation abroad once he was back working with Peter. Maybe it was his freedom he was going to miss…

Peter sighed. "So how does soup sound?"

"What? I don't get steak?"

"Steak, unfortunately, will have to wait. Just soup and ORS for you."

"No, no ORS. That thing tastes like plastic."

"Mozzie got one that tastes like cherry."

"Cherry-flavoured plastic."

"Well, it's either that, or an IV. Your choice."

Peter left the room to get the soup and Neal felt his smile starting to fade. He wasn't sure if it was the medicine wearing off, or if it was reality sinking in. Back to the anklet. Back to the two mile radius. Back to crowded, bustling, noisy, dirty, wonderful New York, a city he loved unconditionally, but hated occasionally. The run was over. He'd wanted it to be over, he'd thought of it a million times, but now he was just looking around him, admiring the perfectly knitted palm-fronds of the roof, and realising he had actually come to love this bug-infested hell-hole too.

He had to talk to Peter. He had to talk to him seriously, without joking. He needed to tell him what had happened, what he'd seen in the cave, what he had thought down there, and what he'd promised he would do if he got out. He'd promised he would be honest. If he told all that to Mozzie, he would think he was delirious, but he had a feeling Peter would understand. And once he had understood, he would thank him for rescuing him, and then it would mean something.

The soup was milky but to him it lacked substance, it almost looked like dirty water. He was hesitant to drink it, and his hands shook as he lifted the spoon, but when the liquid touched his throat it tasted like the most wonderful thing he'd ever tried. He wanted to down the whole thing in one slurp, but could only manage one half-filled spoonful every time. Halfway through it, he got tired, and had to stop. He was glad no one was watching him that moment, or he would've been embarrassed. He had been so hungry, but suddenly he wasn't. His stomach cramped and he couldn't finish the soup, couldn't stand the glass of bright pink plastic-tasting liquid that he was supposed to drink. He left it on the nightstand and tried to turn on his side, but his leg, he realised, was splintered and heavy and he couldn't move it. He pulled the sheets almost up to his nose and closed his eyes. It would all be better if he slept.

* * *

Peter closed the door to Neal's room behind him, but did not move away. He had not wanted to leave, but he knew that Neal needed some privacy, and he wanted to give him time. He had not even mentioned his leg during the short time they had talked, and he wondered if he should have. There were no doctors around, but it was obvious to everyone that it was badly broken, and though there were no open wounds he also knew that it was possible to get an infection from a broken bone left untreated. He also had several skin sores in his back and behind his legs, which he reckoned were a result of bug bites combined with lying in the mud for days. He wasn't sure Neal had noticed those, but he would eventually. He tried not to show his concern while inside, he tried to be upbeat and optimistic, but in truth he was worried. If he'd had the power, he would've arranged an airlift, but he was an unsanctioned foreign authority and he was told that the local police did not take kindly to people like him.

At the same time, he did not want to rush their departure. He remembered the road to town, the times they were stuck, the bumps and almost-crashes, and that could not be good for Neal. For the moment he wasn't feeling pain, Vogt had given something that Mozzie had suspected was horse tranquiliser, but they would not be able to give him anything more until Hugo came back. They had debated hard and long – Mozzie and him – about whether they should leave right away or not, or if they should have him treated in the city or wait till they got to New York. Each had its pros and cons, but in the end Peter had opted to wait till they were on their way to make a decision.

He took his phone, climbed to the roof, and called New York. He briefed Hughes, spoke for a moment with Diana, and then he dialled again. At the first ring, El picked up.

"Peter! I was so worried, I hadn't heard from you in days!"

"I'm fine, El. Sorry I couldn't call, it's been…" he sighed, and rubbed his eyes. "Busy."

"Did you find Neal?"

_Right to the point_.

"Yes. Yes, hon, I found him. He's with me now. We're coming home in a couple of days."

"Oh thank God. Is he all right?"

"He… He's… He will be all right. Don't worry."

"What do you mean, he _will _be all right? How is he? Where was he? How did you find him? What do you mean you've been busy, what have you been doing?"

"Whoa, one question at a time, El, please…"

"Just tell me everything, right from the start."

He did, and once he was done she was even more worried. That was to be expected. He was worried himself.

"He will be fine, El," he kept repeating.

"Has a doctor seen him yet? You know there all kinds of parasites that-"

"We've called a doctor, hon, but it's raining so hard we don't know if he's going to make it. But Neal will be all right. You can even speak to him later."

"Don't forget to call me the moment you are on your way."

"I will. I promise."

"Take care, Peter."

* * *

Downstairs, Mozzie was playing dice with Mr. Vogt and his grandson, while they sipped quietly on creamy coffee liquor. Peter watched them from the bench in the veranda, he listened to Mozzie's grave voice, and knew that this was him saying goodbye.

"Suit!" he called without lifting his eyes from his cup, as if he'd known he was watching. "Play with us."

"Later, Mozzie. I'm tired."

"I wasn't asking."

Peter turned. He shrugged his weary shoulders, breathed in, and stood. He sat down on the table next to Mozzie and poured himself a glassful of the liquor while Vogt handed him a cup with five dice. He didn't bother asking what they were playing, and just went along with it. The silence was eerie but not surprising. Mozzie was worried and sad to leave; Vogt no doubt was thinking about his daughter, and how could he have possibly never known what she was up to, how could he have been so blind.

"He took the soup?" Mozzie asked, as he ruffled his cup and slammed it. Peter nodded.

"Most of it. There wasn't much anyway, this has to be done little by little."

"His leg's going to need pins. Surgery."

"We'll deal with that once we're out of here."

"Shouldn't you be taking the government jet? Collins is going to get back to New York way before you do if you go on a commercial airline."

"I'll talk to Neal. If he's fine with being on the same plane as Rob Berg then we'll take it. Personally I'd feel safer flying LAN."

"You sound like an airport recording. It's your turn, up or doubt?"

"Up. Five fives. What about you Mozzie?"

"What about me?"

"Are you going back to New York?"

Mozzie rolled his eyes. "Well, I obviously can't stay here now that my cover is blown and my location has been disclosed."

"What, you think I'd tell?" A stare that clearly said _seriously _Was his answer. Peter cleared his throat and asked again. "What are you going to do?"

"Now, now. The only thing you need to know is that you'll be seeing me again. Though our collaboration shall remain forever secret. I have a reputation, you know. Up. Five sixes."

"I'm glad you sent me that message, Mozz. I know it must've been hard for you."

"It doesn't matter, Suit. It's in the past. The way I see it, you can only run from the past, or learn from it, and I've learned from it."

Peter chuckled.

"Are you quoting Rafiki?"

Mozzie took a slow sip of his drink. "He was a very wise mandrill."

"Up, six sixes," said Vogt, and the turn came to his grandson, David.

"I'll doubt. Have you seen Laura?"

Both Peter and Mozzie shook their heads, and David just stared at his cup. Vogt lost a die and let it roll on the table without a sound, but it was thrown with too much force and it flew clear off the edge. Mozzie bent down to get it. A scream made him start; his head bumped against the table so hard his glass tipped, and Peter rose from his seat almost knocking the chair. The scream sounded again, and they both scrambled to Neal's door.

"No, no, no, no! Not here! Not here!"

Peter burst inside and found Neal struggling with the sheets. He grabbed his arm and shook him, knowing no other way to wake him up quick. Neal opened his eyes but did not stop shouting.

"Not here!"

"Neal, it's fine. Neal? Neal? Listen to me, look at me. It's fine."

Neal's fingers tightened on Peter's arm again. "Am I out? Am I out?"

"Yes, Neal. You're out. It's over, everything is fine." It took a moment for Neal's eyes to focus, and then he seemed to relax. He breathed in heavily and stared at Peter.

"You're… You're…"

"I assure you, I'm real. I can show you my two human legs if you want," he said. Neal exhaled, and pushed his hair back.

"It was a dream…" he whispered, and rested back on the pillow. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about… How was the soup?"

"Glorious."

"I'm glad. There will be more where that came from. How are you feeling?"

Neal looked away for a moment, and Peter frowned.

"Neal?"

"Yeah."

"How are you feeling? Don't say fine."

"My leg… I'm tired… Too tired."

"Don't worry. You'll have plenty of time to rest."

"I hope you don't mean in prison…"

Peter smiled. "No. I've talked to Hughes. Rob's arrest will be on every newspaper once we get back."

"And when will that be?"

"Soon."

Peter came to sit in the chair by the bed, and he opened a days-old newspaper. Behind the back was scribbled with all the games section filled in. Neal let his eyes follow the lines of the maze, and the puzzles and Sudoku, and he allowed himself to smile.

"Maybe we were a little bored," he said. Peter folded the paper, looked at the back, and raised an eyebrow.

"Just a little?"

"Hey, don't tease. That was mostly Mozzie."

"I'm sure."

"Peter…" Neal lifted his eyes so they were fixed on Peter. His face became sharper, his lips so tight they formed a thin line. "Peter, I… In the cave… there was a point in which you showed up… to take me out."

"I did show up to take you out."

"No… I mean before. Before you actually did."

"Oh. You mean the fake, goat-legged me?"

"Did Laura tell you that story?" He said it without thinking and her name sounded bitter in his mouth. He saw Peter wincing, but he still managed a nod. "Well, I… That was when I started to lose it."

"When you gave up hope?"

"Yes. I was so angry, Peter. _So angry_. It was rage like I had never felt before, rage and despair and anxiety and dread and fear and every bad feeling combined. It just came suddenly and… took over. I thought so many bad things, about you, about the FBI…"

Peter started to fiddle with a loose string in his shirt, and he shifted in his chair.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked. Neal looked away from a moment, and then his eyes were back on him, bright and glassy.

"I made promises. I made so many promises, with each I got angrier. I didn't think it was fair. But there's some poetic justice in what happened, all in all."

"What do you mean?"

"I got pushed into the cave because I trusted Rob. Inside, I stopped trusting you… And I was proved wrong."

"You can always trust me, Neal."

"I know. And now I'll keep my promises."

* * *

Someone knocked the door three times, but with soft, spaced blows, and Neal immediately tensed. Before Peter stood to open he already knew who it was, just from that subtle knock, and he wished he could pretend he was asleep. When the door creaked and she stepped in he thought maybe blood would rush to his chest and he would even start struggling with taking a breath. But that didn't happen. He remained quiet and undisturbed. He was glad of that calm he managed.

"Can I see Neal?" Laura asked, while Peter stood like a sentry under the doorframe. Neal could see the muscles in his neck standing out, and he hoped he would also keep his cool.

"You lied to Rob. He could've killed somebody."

"But he didn't," she said. Neal couldn't see her face, but her voice sounded strange. Still confident, still sure, but lacking lustre. It was hollow, sad. But Peter was immune to it.

"If you think you can give me the sop story and expect me to forget that you associated yourself with a murderer and almost committed murder yourself, you're wrong. You might've helped us, but that doesn't change what you did."

"I know that, don't you think I know that? Just… I need to talk to him. You can arrest me after I'm done."

She stepped ahead and reluctantly Peter left the bedroom, although Neal was sure he remained on the other side of the door. Laura didn't sit, just stood with her arms crossed at the foot of the table. She didn't speak, just stared at him until he was uncomfortable, but he forced himself to keep his gaze up. He wasn't going to yield to her.

"Neal…" She took a big breath, as if to steady herself. "What I did…"

"Laura." He broke her off. Again the bitterness followed her name. "I didn't deserve that, Laura."

_There_. She crumbled, covered her face and uncovered it and all the mock pride, all the confidence was gone like it had never been there, and all he could see in her was deep, deep shame. He knew he didn't have to say anything else – five words had been enough.

"I'm sorry," she blurted, and she took a step back and grabbed at the door handle as if she wanted to flee. Though he knew it was cruel, he smiled at the thought that she was afraid of him.

"I thought you had more guts than that," he said. She flinched, as if he'd insulted her. Her face turned red.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Don't get defensive."

"I'm not—What do you want? I came to apologise. Do you want me to go to prison? Do you want me to pay for what I've done? What do you want? I can't fall any lower."

"Self-pity doesn't become you."

"Tell me what you want."

"You've come here on your own. What do _you_ want? What did you ever want? Just… Why? Tell me. I want you to tell me."

Laura opened her mouth and closed it, like she had never considered that question. Then she looked down, and leaned against the farthest wall.

"You don't want to hear that."

"You asked me what I wanted. I want to hear it."

She gulped, and dropped her arms to her sides. "I wanted it all to be over. All right? I wanted it all to end but I didn't want to be the one to end it. I didn't want to deal with the mess. I was afraid and I couldn't handle it."

"You knew what Rob was going to do to me. Did you want to do it?"

"Of course not. What kind of question is that?"

"Then why did you?"

"I thought I would be able to live with it…"

"And…?"

"And I thought the cave was deeper. I thought you would die instantly. I didn't think you would suffer."

Neal scoffed, then looked up at her again.

"My God… I spent ten days down there, Laura, ten days going half mad. You didn't want me to suffer? What am I, a dog to be put down? You hear yourself talking, you know how that sounds? For God's sake..."

"I know. But you asked for an answer."

"What… What happened to you?"

"I lost control. You've been to prison, don't you know how it feels? I thought you would understand."

"I never hurt anybody."

"Oh yeah? So what, you were Robin Hood, only stealing from the rich? Have you ever stopped and thought about what you may have caused? Actions have consequences. When things go wrong, bonds go to hell. Couples split, jobs are lost, friendships are broken. You think you got away clean? You ruined lives, too."

"Yes. And I paid for it four years locked up."

"You paid for one crime. You did much more."

"Yes. Yes, I did, and I think about that every day, I don't regret the jobs I've done, I never did this for the money, but I do think of the people that my actions affected, you gave me plenty of time to think about it on that cave."

He said it all in one breath and then gasped from the effort, but he didn't pull his eyes away from Laura. She gritted her teeth, and let the silence hang for a moment. When she went on, her voice was not as hollow. Emotion bled through.

"It got to a point… where I just wanted it to end. I was in hell and I didn't care how I got out. When Rob told me what he was going to do, he said it was time to leave. I saw my chance of freedom and I took it."

"Was it worth it?"

"Worth it? No. You think I'd be here if it had been worth it? I would've taken Rob's gold, I would've left this place for good, never looked back. I wouldn't be standing here in shame."

"Did you come here so I would forgive you?"

"No." Again she paused. It seemed to Neal that it was something she did not want to ask him. "I thought that if I faced you all, I wouldn't feel like such a coward."

"How's that working for you?"

She sighed. "It's not. But I _am_ sorry. It's all I have."

"Laura… I forgave you while I was still in the cave."

She paled, raised a hand to her mouth and seemed to sink right into the wall. It was a few seconds before she could speak again. When she did, she sounded on the edge of tears.

"That isn't fair," she said, in a thin, trembling voice, one he'd never heard before. At first he was puzzled by her words, but a moment later he understood. She didn't want it to be so easy. She found no relief in forgiveness – it was atonement she wanted.

"What will you do now?" he asked her. "I know Peter. He wants to arrest you but he doesn't have the authority. Even if he could it, though, I don't think he would. As far as I know the local police don't know of your involvement. Nothing needs to change for you."

She shook her head. "Everything has changed."

"What will you do?"

"I am teacher. I should go back and teach. Maybe… Maybe one day the sense of shame will start to fade, and I will say I'm sorry again, to you and Mozzie and your police friend, and when you forgive me then it will mean something."

"Let me know when that time comes," said Neal. Exhausted, he let his eyes close and spoke only in a whisper. "Until then, I have to keep promises of my own."

* * *

Neal said goodbye to the River House four days after leaving the cave. He stood leaning on both Peter and Mozzie, out of balance because of the difference in height, and from the veranda he looked inside and let out a long breath. Pain flared in his leg as his foot brushed the wooden boards of the floor, and he gritted his teeth to keep himself from wincing. He had not stood in those four days, had hardly even sat up, and though he was feeling stronger now still his body betrayed him when making too strong an effort.

He let his hand hung down and it brushed the smooth mahogany of the veranda railing. He was going to miss that sweet-smelling wood. He was going to miss the house and the river, all of it, but now he was sure that the memories he kept would be fond. He'd left behind the despair of the cave, the hopelessness and the anger. He was ready now, to go back home.

"Thank you… for everything," he said, looking up at Mr. Vogt who stood in the veranda with his family. Laura wasn't there, but he'd already said goodbye to her. It wasn't raining anymore, the sky was a blue that he knew he was never going to see again while he was in New York. He savoured it, and then turned. The truck engine was one, Nico, the guide, was sitting behind the wheel fiddling with the radio until he stopped at a song that sounded clear. A strange, folk version of Auld Lang Syne played in pan flute and violin. He hummed along, the familiar words playing in his head, and his hand let go of the railing.

"One step at a time," said Peter, as they came down and headed for the car. Once there, Mozzie let go of him, and stepped back.

"You're sure you won't go with us?" Peter asked him. Mozzie crossed his arms and looked back.

"I've still got some unfinished business here. But you'll be hearing from me again, soon." He was looking at Neal as he said so, and Neal nodded. He was helped up into the back seat. He settled by the window and was looking out when he saw Agent Collins coming out of the house, followed closely by Rob, on cuffs. Seeing him tense, Peter rested a hand on his shoulder.

"It's only until town. In the plane you won't see him."

"It's fine," said Neal, trying to smile, but he was quite relieved when he saw it was Collins who would be sitting next to him, and not Rob. Still, they were quite close to each other, and when Rob's door was closed he craned his neck and smiled at Neal like they were old friends. Neal had thought he would want to kill him when he saw him again, that he would want to punch him over and over, that he would feel the same sort of rage he'd felt that day he'd held a gun to Fowler's face. But instead, he felt bold, and more like himself than he'd felt in months.

"Now, who's looking perkier?" said Rob. "How's the leg?"

"Just fine. How's the eye?" Neal shot back, and smiled when he saw Rob wince. Laura had said he was sensitive about his eye.

"Well, now, someone's resentful…"

"Shut up," said Collins. "Or you'll regret it."

Neal chuckled.

"Oh, you'll enjoy yourself in prison, Rob. I speak from experience."

Nico pressed on the clutch and put on first, rolling out through the soft grass. As they turned into the road, Neal saw that the truck left behind red tyre marks in the ground, and the house became smaller and smaller, until it faded into the trees. He sighed. Something was ending. Something was starting. He thought again of cases and schemes, of heists and cons and puzzles to solve, and he felt an excitement that was almost enough to drown out the pain in his leg and the deep-set weariness in his bones. Now he knew that would pass, though. He felt ready.

* * *

Peter turned back in his seat, about to say something to Neal, but he let it hang when he saw he was asleep despite the bumpy road. He'd been expecting it, since not an hour ago he'd spiked his orange juice so as to make the trip easier for him, but still it was eerie that they were all so quiet, even with Neal, Collins and Rob all in the back seat. He wished Mozzie was with him, that little guy was great at breaking ice, even with murderers, though Peter really had no wish in talking to Rob. It was taking all of his conscious effort not to stop, drag him out, and punch him to unconsciousness. He started out at the forest as the Spanish words of the Auld Lang Syne tune filtered into his head and he began to hum along, too. He knew enough Spanish to be able to let the lyrics move him almost. _Why lose the hope of ever seeing each other again? It's nothing more than a see you later. It's nothing more than a brief goodbye. Goodbye, goodbye, we never might again meet. _

He felt then, looking back at Neal, at Rob chained and cuffed, and at Collins on him like a bulldog, that he'd done a pretty good job, even as an unsanctioned, mostly paper-working agent. Like Mozzie had told him early, he would've made a good OIA agent, he could've even been CIA. But in no other area would he see the wit and criminal ideation that he saw in White Collar Crimes. He thought of New York next, of his office, of the coffee machine, of El and Satchmo, and Jones and Diana and Hughes, of the empty desk that Neal had occupied and that he had started at with guilt and sadness during the time he'd been gone. It was good to be going back. For both of them.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading again! I'll be back soon. I hope you have liked this. Regarding OCs, I used to hate them, but they are necessary plot-wise, and I don't like antagonists to be pure evil, I like them to have lives of their own. I hope the abundance of them in this fic hasn't put too many people off. I always feel the need to create new things. It keeps it all exciting. Anyway, I'd love it so, so much if you left me a review below. Getting (New Review) mail when I check it in the morning truly makes my whole day better. I promise to reply to your comments, I'm so interested in knowing who all of you mystery readers are! Again THANK YOU. **

**(And ps have you seen the fifth season promo? It looks so cool! Ahh I can't wait any longer!) **


	18. Epilogue

**A/N: It's been fun, folks. I hope you have enjoyed this. Thank you so, so very much for reading. **

* * *

He took the stairs – and he did so alone. He'd taken a cab to the office in the morning, waving off Peter's offer to pick him up from June's, and he'd ridden the lift to the floor below White Collar Crimes. He'd been thinking of climbing up the stairs right from the ground, but he didn't want to get to the top all sweaty and flustered – and of course, he was still on crutches. He wasn't crazy.

He took a deep breath and picked up the smell of dark, burnt coffee, of papers old and new, of rust from file fasteners and of air that was dry and did not make him feel like he was always wet. It had been so long… He had thought he'd missed the rush of pulling cons with Peter, but now he realised he'd missed this too. Feeling at ease, feeling he belonged, feeling useful and _right._ He was wearing one of his best suits, and the fabric felt smooth against his skin, dry also, and wonderfully cold. Outside it was snowing. It was a good day.

He was smiling from ear to ear when he crossed the threshold and emerged into the office, and when he looked up and saw Peter next to Hughes, both giving him the two-finger-point at the same time as they beamed, he wanted both to burst out laughing and to cry. He went to his desk, rested his hand on the marble head of the Greek philosopher, and saw that there was a cup from a coffee shop he liked resting in his seat, and under it a newspaper and a card.

_Goldeneye Caught in the Amazon – Rogue Army Bomber had been hiding dealing gold for over a decade. _

"No credit for you on that one," said Peter, materialising next to him. "But don't feel bad, they don't mention me either. It all goes to Collins and OIA Intelligence… Did you take the stairs?"

"Only the last flight. What's this?" He picked up the card next, and opened it. It was a Hallmark 'Good to have you back', signed by everyone. "Aw, Peter. I'm touched."

"Oh, I'm not responsible, that was Jenny's idea," said Peter, turning away.

"Who's Jenny?"

"Oh, she's… Just… Never mind."

Neal let his hand rest on Peter's shoulders.

"Tell Jenny I say thank you then."

* * *

A few people came over to welcome him back, and he chatted for a while with Jones and Diana. Then once they had all gone back to work he followed Peter up to his office, and he leaned against the glass panels. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Jones, or Diana, or Hughes, in the weeks since he'd arrived back to New York he'd met them a few times, and they had visited him in the hospital, but it was different to actually be in the office. He sighed, with a satisfied smile.

"It's so good to be back," he said. Peter looked up from his desk.

"You do know it's the desk for you, at least till you take that thing off," he pointed at Neal's black leg brace. "How did your last appointment go, by the way?"

Neal sighed. He was tired of the subject, tired of doctors and excruciating physical therapy, but he owed it to Peter to give him a straight answer.

"Everything's on schedule. Still another month, though I honestly don't see why…"

"Well, unfortunately for you he's the one with the MD."

"That could be—"

"A real MD, I mean."

Neal rolled his eyes. "People put too much stock in certificates."

"Whatever you say… Anyway, we've got to get back on track. Once you've done eating cake and telling jungle stories to the interns, there's a stack of files in your decks you need to go through."

"New case? Is it interesting?"

"Oh, very. We've got four long suspects of stock fraud, who colluded to create a fake mining company, they hired a scapegoat to spread rumours of successful platinum findings, then when enough people invested they up and disappeared. Scapegoat showed up dead. It's top priority, so have it read by tomorrow, we're discussing it with the Harvard crew then."

"All right. I'll go through it."

He stood, and headed for the door. Peter raised his head before he was gone.

"Have you heard from Mozzie yet?" he asked. Neal remembered the note in golden letters he'd found tucked under the door in his loft after leaving the hospital.

"Yes. It seems he's quite busy, still. Ran into some new business."

"Is that right? Coffee-related, I hope."

"Sure," said Neal. They both smiled, knowing it was a lie. Then he turned and opened the door. "Back to work then."

"Back to work."

* * *

Neal left the office before it was dark, and made his slow way up the stairs in his crutches, with all the heavy copied files in his bag to check later. He stopped in front of his door when he saw the warm yellow glow beneath, and made sure to straighten out his clothes before going in, both crutches in one hand.

"I'm afraid my wine selection is quite depleted," he said, taking a step in. Mozzie was sitting with his back to him, and a tall glass beside him.

"Oh, don't worry. You still have a Lafite. Well, half of one now." He turned, slowly, and stared at Neal for a few good seconds before nodding. "You look good."

"I look better. Not yet good."

"Excuse me, but I'll be the judge of that. You didn't see yourself back then. I think 'good' sums it up well enough."

They were both quiet for a moment. Neal remembered the pain and despair, and Mozzie remembered the horror of seeing his friend just out of the cave. Then they both shook their heads and drove those thoughts away.

"So?" said Neal.

"So what?"

"Are you going to tell me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on, Mozz," Neal picked up the card Mozzie had sent him a few weeks ago, and let it rest on the table. "What took you so long? What did you find?"

"If you're concerned of divisions, I split it fifty-fifty. Although I did deduct expenses from your half."

"That's generous of you. So it's true, then. You found Rob's stash."

"Ah…" he frowned, and turned his head from side to side. "I didn't exactly find it. Laura led me to it. Seems she's not a complete witch after all. Though she did ask for 15 percent in liquidated assets. She said she wanted it for her school."

"Let's hope that's true."

"I made sure of it. I've set it up in a trust so it will look legal but she can't do whatever she wants with it."

"Smart."

"Thank you. As for you and me, we've got enough if ever we need to make another run for it. We could do it in style now. The Maldives if you still fancy them."

Neal came to the couch and slowly sat down. Then he rested his leg to his side and took off the brace. He winced at the difference between both his legs, and when the brace-less movement still caused him pain, but when he looked up at Mozzie again he didn't show it.

"No, Mozz. I'm not running again."

* * *

**A/N: This is the end. It would really mean the world for me, regardless if you've reviewed before or are a guest or not, if you told me what you think. It's unbelievably long, I know, I can only imagine how thick this would look printed. I've got some other WC stories in the works, some similar, some very very different to this one, that'll I'll post when I finish them or at least when they are far advanced. I don't want to keep you waiting. I've really enjoyed writing this and hearing from you, I hope you'll have a great weekend, and I hope that I hear from you again! Adiós! **


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